A Serpent's Sacrifice
by Gabilian
Summary: The magical world unravels after sixth year. The Order of the Phoenix is an empty shell, so Harry must act independently. Voldemort's lying low, but for how long? Follow Harry as he finds and destroys the other horcruxes and deals with unwanted celebrity.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Let Them Come

Harry Potter thought that he would like being a nobody again. In the wizarding world, Harry was special, and although he hated to admit it, he had become used to it. During his sixth year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, he had in fact become a celebrity. As he anonymously sat on a park bench one warm July afternoon, not far from his home on Privet Drive, Harry realized that he could not easily adjust to being a nobody again.

Just over two weeks earlier, Harry attended the funeral of his mentor, Albus Dumbledore. As so often happened to Harry, he ended up at the center of attention. People glanced at him when they thought he was not looking, whispered about him when he could not hear them. Harry had become accustomed to it by now. After ten years of treatment as a nobody by his relatives, now he was somebody - a person who mattered. He hated all the attention, but yes, he liked it too. Back here with the Dursleys, however, he returned to his nobody status. Back at the house he hated, staying with people he detested, he wondered why he did not simply leaveAfter arriving back in Little Whinging, Harry holed up in his room for a couple of days, only coming out briefly. Soon he could not bear the four walls of his room, and he began roaming the neighborhoods around Privet Drive as he had done so often in his younger days. A few people recognized his face from his childhood, saying hello and striking up small talk. In this world, Harry Potter would always be a nobody, not the least bit special. Yet being a nobody could no longer be an option. Like it or not, the magical world depended on Harry, who truly had become "The Chosen One."

Harry's brief conversations with Vernon and Petunia Dursley, his uncle and aunt, had been thankfully mundane. They had not inquired about the recent events at Hogwarts, and Harry felt no inclination to bring up the subject. All three of them knew that this summer would be his last at 4 Privet Drive, and an unspoken understanding arose to avoid confrontation. Harry's cousin, Dudley, did not join in this pact, however, and when Dudley appeared in the house, which rarely occurred, he glared at Harry with hatred in his eyes. Harry returned the glare with intense green eyes, and Dudley ultimately would look away. Dudley and his gang all had run-ins with the local police and had to be a bit more careful in their delinquency, but they still craved a good beating when they could find it.

On his long walks, Harry half-heartedly avoided Dudley's gang, but deep down he sensed the inevitability of a confrontation. From his park bench, Harry could see them coming, five of them this time, with the robust (to be kind) Dudley at the lead. "The alpha male," Harry thought. The prudent idea of leaving his bench occurred to Harry, who quickly put it out of his head. He felt in no mood to act prudently. "Let them come."

Dudley noticed Harry but pretended that he did not. Another of the gang pointed at his green-eyed cousin, however, leaving Dudley no choice but to follow them towards the park bench. The five-man gang in fact presented a menacing sight, but Harry realized that he did not fear them. He had more serious problems than a few brain-dead thugs in a muggle park. As Dudley arrived, Harry's and his eyes locked in the stare-down, and after several seconds, Dudley looked away.

"What are you doing here, freak?" Dudley often called Harry "freak" in front of his friends but never explained why.

"I'm sitting on a park bench." Harry replied calmly.

"I don't think we like you 'round here. Better clear out if you don't want us to rearrange your face."

Harry's lips formed a thin smile.

"I'm comfortable here. Don't feel like moving just yet." He readjusted himself on the bench, indicating his intention to remain.

Dudley hoped for a different response, but regardless of the consequences he could not back down in front of his friends.

"Don't say I didn't give you a chance, freak," Dudley snarled, stepping forward menacingly until Harry turned slightly, revealing his hand grasping his wand. Dudley froze.

"Let's talk about this for a minute, Dudders," Harry almost whispered as he stood up and walked out of earshot of the others. Dudley reluctantly followed.

"You can't use that thing when you're out of school, I know that, " Dudley sputtered, "Don't think you can scare me with it."

"There are a couple of things you should know, cousin. First, I have the right to use this thing, it's called a wand by the way, to defend myself, and if you and your aardvarks come after me, I swear Dudley, I will turn you into a ferret. Yes, I know how to do it. Then I'll take this wand and bounce you up and down like a basketball." Harry managed to sneer and smile at the same time, remembering Mad Eye Moody doing the same to Draco Malfoy in his fourth year at Hogwarts. Inwardly Harry felt pleased that he now possessed the capability to perform the same act. Dudley's expression did not change, but his face paled.

Harry continued, "Another thing you should know is that I will be of age on my birthday in two weeks, which means that I can do any magic I want without getting in trouble. So if you or your buddies so much at touch me, I promise you that I will use some spells on you that you don't even want me to describe. There's a good one called Sectumsempra that would be perfect for you - cuts you up all over, makes you scream like a little baby. It's up to you, cousin." Dudley refused to look into Harry's intense green eyes, instead backing away from his cousin and turning towards his friends.  
"Look, as much as I'd like to pound on this freak, can't risk it. Couldn't hide his mashed face from my mum, and we're all in enough hot water as it is. Let's go." Dudley's friends displayed shock at this new-found responsibility in their leader, but they had to admit that he made sense, so they strutted away from Harry in an attempt to prove that they really could have pounded on him if they did not have the minor inconvenience of parents and the law.

Returning to his bench, Harry repositioned himself to resume his thoughts, only to feel someone sit down on the bench. He could see noone.

"Who are you," Harry whispered.

"Tonks," came a voice from nowhere.

"So you are my minder today, eh?" Harry knew that someone under an invisibility cloak always followed him, a constant irritation.

"Why do you have to be wandering all over all the time?" Tonks whined, "I get more exercise following you than I did at the auror academy."

"Well, I'm not going to sit in that house all day. I'm thinking of leaving anyway. Not much reason for me to stick around here. My birthday is just a couple of weeks away." Harry spoke as quietly as he could with minimal lip movement so as not to attract attention. Harry felt Tonks move closer to him.

"That's OK by me, Harry, but make sure you let someone know when and where you're going," Tonks replied. "That was a close call with that whale you call a cousin. I was just about to stupefy him when he walked away. Glad he did, otherwise I would have had to stupefy all five of them, modify their memories, the whole deal. Would have been a real pain in the you know what. What did you say to make him leave like that?"

"Just provided him some important information," Harry muttered. "I'm thinking about leaving in a few days. Maybe to my house, maybe to the Burrow. Bill and Fleur's wedding will be there a couple of days after my birthday, so I'll end up there sooner or later. By then I'll be of age, and you can leave me alone."

"We'll see about that; not my decision to make."

"Whose decision is it then?" asked Harry. Since Dumbledore's death, he wondered who would take over as head of the Order of the Phoenix.

"No decisions have been made yet. There's a big meeting of the Order in a couple of days. I really don't know what's going to happen, Harry. Everything is up in the air. Fortunately You Know Who has been laying low, though I can't think why. At the moment, there is not much we can do to fight him. I don't mean to depress you, Harry, but things are going to get worse before they get better."  
"Yeah, I know." Harry looked around the park again to make sure that nobody watched him talk to thin air. The park seemed quite peaceful with a warm breeze softly moving the leaves of the trees. He continued whispering, "Thanks for talking to me, Tonks. Its nice to know a little bit about what's going on. What's the word on Hogwarts? Is it going to reopen?"

"Not decided yet, but it looks like it will. Most of Dumbledore's wards are still in place, and he left instructions about some of them, so the castle is still about the safest there is. McGonagall will be the headmistress, at least for one year. After that, who knows?"

"Hmm," responded Harry. He had no intention of returning to Hogwarts but knew that he should not mention it. "Well, I better be heading home. I'm sure Aunt Petunia is worried about me." Harry laughed at the absurdity of that thought and stood up. "Thanks again, Tonks. I'll let you know when I want to leave this hole."

"OK Harry. Just be careful. You don't need any more trouble, so stay away from your idiot cousin."

"You just don't want to do the paperwork," joked Harry as he slowly ambled back to the house.

After quietly eating dinner, Harry climbed the steps back to his room. Perhaps Harry did not consider himself an ordinary teenager, but one would not have known from the state of his room, clothes strewn about randomly, bed unmade, papers and letters piled on his small desk. A typical teenage mess. The room contained no chair, other than an uncomfortable metal folding chair by a small, chipped oak desk, so Harry threw himself onto his bed, knocking a shirt to the worn beige carpet. When outside the house, Harry could distract his mind from the task ahead of him, but as soon as he returned, the impossibility of it all overwhelmed him.

"How could he expect me to do this?" Harry complained, as he had more times than he could count. Questions flooded his mind. Where are the other horcruxes? How do I destroy one if I'm lucky enough to find one? Who is R.A.B.? Was he able to destroy the locket? How could I know for sure whether he did or did not? Where should I start?

Over and over again, Harry reviewed and considered everything he learned from Professor Dumbledore. Yes, he did know a lot more than he did before his sixth year, but not nearly enough. He felt like a blind man looking for the needle in the haystack, except even that would be easier than what faced him. Returning to Hogwarts would surely be a waste of his time, but what should he do instead? Wild ideas bounced around his brain, each one more unreasonable than the last. Ultimately, he always came back to the same question: Where do I start?

As the first part of July passed, Harry could not prevent falling into a deep depression. He felt it happening but could do nothing to cushion the fall. He could plainly see the outcome of his mission. Failure. He could not possibly locate all of the remaining horcruxes, destroy them, find Voldemort without being killed by his death eaters, and the final little matter of killing Voldemort once and for all. Harry had seen Voldemort and knew what he could do. He saw Voldemort and Dumbledore battle at the Ministry, and they did things that he could not even explain much less perform.

"If only I could be the wizard that Dumbledore was," Harry pleaded, a notion he could only describe as laughable. Dumbledore had been a great wizard, the greatest Harry would ever know.

Some people thought of Harry as a "great wizard" too, but Harry knew the truth. _I'm about the most mediocre wizard there is,_ he concluded, after taking stock of his strengths and weaknesses. True, he excelled at some areas of magic, but many students at Hogwarts could out-magic Harry seven days a week. He could perform defensive spells with the best of them, but perfomed average at best at charms and transfiguration. Mainly he had luck on his side. How else could he explain how he survived his encounters with Lord Voldemort? Sooner or later his luck would run out, and when it did, that would be the end. Yes, the end of this great adventure would without doubt be Harry's death. Surprisingly, this did not particularly bother Harry, not nearly as much as the thought of his failure to complete his mission.

"I just hope Voldemort doesn't fool around this time and kills me quickly," Harry mused.

Yet Harry never considered surrender, despite the inevitablity of his fate. He would do his best, wreak as much havoc as he could to Voldemort and his horcruxes, and hopefully accomplish something before his time on this earth ended. These thoughts served to calm Harry's nerves to an extent, and by the time of his enjoyable confrontation with Dudley's gang and his conversation with Tonks, he more or less had returned to normal self. A knock on his window shook Harry from his trance, and he turned on his bed to see an owl requesting entry.

After reaching up to push the window open, the large barn own hopped through, landing softly on Harry's bed. After the wizard removed the letter attached to its right leg, the owl hooted a greeting to Hedwig, Harry's snow white owl, and flew away. Hedwig barely moved its head to acknowledge the presence of the messenger. Examining the letter, Harry noticed the Hogwarts crest and presumed that the letter would inform him and all other Hogwarts students of the status of the school. Would it or would it not open following the death of Headmaster Dumbledore? Harry tore open the envelop only to find a small sheet of parchment inside.

**_Dear Mr. Potter: _**

I hope you are enjoying your summer, though I know that we all carry heavy hearts. This letter will serve to inform you that I shall be arriving at your home tonight at 9:00 pm sharp. Please alert your aunt and uncle to my arrival.

With kindest regards,

Minerva McGonagal,  
Interim Headmistress  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

"What is she coming here for?" Harry exclaimed as he jumped from his bed and began to pace the floor of the small room, stepping over shirts, socks and other dirty clothes. Both irritated and intrigued by the impending visit, he tried to divine the purpose of her visit.

"What if she wants to come into my room?" worried Harry, and he immediately began to pick up the clothes from his floor, stuffing them into drawers or his closet. After five minutes his room appeared presentable on the surface, and Harry hoped that Professor McGonagal would not pry any further.

With trepidation, Harry descended the stairs to find his aunt and uncle. Vernon Dursley muttered to himself while reading the afternoon daily and did not notice Harry's presence.

Harry cleared his throat and finally managed to verbalize, "Ah, Uncle Vernon?" Vernon looked up from his newspaper and slightly jumped at the unexpected presence of his least favorite person. Harry continued, "I just wanted to let you know that a professor from my school is coming to see me tonight. She said she'll come at 9:00 sharp. I just found out a minute ago, so I couldn't tell you before... Just wanted to let you know."

Predictably, Vernon did not accept this news gracefully.

"WHAT! ONE OF YOUR KIND HERE! I WILL NOT HAVE IT! NO, NO, NO! YOU WRITE THIS PROFESSOR OF YOURS RIGHT NOW AND TELL HER SHE SHALL NOT BE PERMITTED IN THIS HOUSE." Vernon continued ranting, but by that time, Harry tuned him out. Once his Uncle quieted down enough for Harry to squeeze in a word, Harry could not restrain himself.

"LISTEN Uncle," Harry hissed, and Vernon's eyes widened in shock at Harry's tone. "I didn't ask for Professor McGonagall to come, but she is coming whether you like it or not. If you don't like it, that's just too bad, isn't it? It just so happens that I live here, though not for much longer, and if someone needs to see me, then they have to come here, don't they? Now if I were you, I would treat Professor McGonagall very nicely, because she has quite a temper herself, and she also happens to be one of the most talented witches anywhere. She could turn you into a turtle faster than you could say it. For once, please, for once just don't make a scene. She'll tell me whatever she has to say and then she'll leave. McGonagall is not the type of person to chit chat. I'll be out of here this week anyway."

Vernon's mouth gradually opened wider and wider during Harry's tirade, but by the time Harry finished, Vernon temporarily found himself unable to speak. Harry seized the opportunity and headed back upstairs to his room, closing the door just as Vernon recovered his voice and commenced complaining loudly to Petunia.

An hour and a half remained until the appointed time, which allowed Harry plenty of time to invent reasons for this unexpected visit. He realized the likelihood that Professor McGonagal would come up to his room must be extremely remote and that the frantic clean-up would probably prove unnecessary. More than anything, he hoped that Vernon would not make a scene.

Finally, at about ten to nine, Harry nervously exited his room to await his guest, whom he knew would arrive promptly at 9 pm. With a great deal of relief, Harry discovered that his aunt and uncle already hid upstairs, apparently (and hopefully) planning to stay there during the visit. Harry needlessly straightened up the sitting room, kept compulsively clean by his aunt. Finally, at exactly 9:00, the doorbell rang.

"Hello, Professor. Thank you for coming. Please come in." Harry greeted her, trying his best to be polite.

"Thank you, Mr. Potter. I am sorry to come on such short notice, but we have learned in these times that it is best to accomplish tasks quickly and with a minimum of anticipation." Professor McGonagall handed Harry the light black sweater she had been wearing, despite the warmth of the evening. Harry did not know what to do with the garment, but eventually took it into the kitchen and hung it over a chair. He led the elderly but energetic woman into the spotless sitting room and motioned for her to take a seat.

"I hope that your summer has been pleasant, Mr. Potter. How have you been faring?"

The small talk surprised Harry, but he supposed it was all a matter of formality.

"I've been OK," responded Harry, "but it's pretty boring around here. Actually Professor, I have been thinking that I can leave here pretty soon, maybe in a couple of days. My birthday is only a couple of weeks away and the protection I have here will end, so it seems like it doesn't make much difference if I leave a week or so early." Harry stopped talking before he rambled any longer.

"Yes, I understand your point, Harry. Indeed, I think it would be a good idea for you to leave this house soon." Professor McGonagall paused for a moment to think. "Are you planning to move to your house at Grimmauld Place? We cannot be sure of its safety now, as you can understand, due to Professor Snape ..."

She said the magic words, and a scowl formed on Harry's face. All summer, Harry forced himself not to think about Snape, the man who killed Professor Dumbledore. The man that Dumbledore trusted, but Harry never trusted. The man who Harry wanted to kill with his bare hands. McGonagall realized what had just occurred and immediately pressed on, well aware of Mr. Potter's explosive temper.

"Of course there is no place that is entirely safe, and we can place new protections on the house. I can assist you with the procedures necessary to name a new secret keeper, and of course we have already replaced the anti-apparation wards and closed floo access until it can be secured."

Harry gathered himself and realized that throwing a tantrum about Snape would be inappropriate.

"I hadn't made up my mind yet, but I think it would be a good idea to go to my house first so that we can take care of those security measures. Probably I'll stay there for a few days and then go to the Burrow, if it is alright with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. I'd like to be at the Burrow for my birthday, and then the wedding is just a couple of days later."

"Very well, Potter. That all makes good sense. We will be in touch with you to arrange for your move to Grimmauld." The small talk phase of the conversation had clearly ended, and an uncomfortable pause ensued. Finally McGonagal broke the silence.

"I know you are wondering why I have come to visit you, Mr. Potter. Unfortunately, it has to do with the death of Professor Dumbledore." She paused momentarily. Harry sat expressionless, but his stomach growled from the turmoil of his emotions. "As you know, Professor Dumbledore was an extraordinary wizard and an exceptional man. Among his many qualities was an ability to foresee the possibility of future events and to prepare for such eventualities. He was one of those few individuals who combined a creative spirit with attention to detail. In short, Mr. Potter, Professor Dumbledore foresaw the possibility of his own death, and he made a number of preparations if this should unfortunately come to pass."

Harry felt the tension in his muscles, and he forced himself to breath deeply in order to relax. His teacher appeared to be waiting for Harry to speak, even though he had nothing to say.

Finally he managed to utter, "I understand, Professor. Please go on."

"Professor Dumbledore left a number of instructions for me, naturally, as he knew that I at least temporarily would succeed him as headmistress of Hogwarts. Most of these instructions are of no concern to you, but he did instruct me to give you certain items." She reached into her handbag and pulled out a large envelope and a package roughly the size of a shoe box. Placing them on the table, she proceeded. "The envelope presumably contains a letter to you and is charmed so that only you can open it. The package contains several items from his office which he specifically indicated that I should give you. I am afraid that I do not have any further explanation to give you. Surely the headmaster's letter will provide you with all the explanation you require."

Harry could not help but notice that Professor McGonagall did not appear pleased by this transaction in the least, and the normally sour look on her face turned especially bitter. She appeared to have said all that she intended to say, so Harry leaned towards the coffee table to take the envelope and package. Examining the envelope, he verified that indeed it remained sealed. Of course, Harry knew that in the magical world envelopes could be opened and magically resealed, but in this case he felt quite certain that the envelope had not been altered. He gently held the letter in his hands. Professor McGonagall looked at Harry, perhaps with the hope that Harry might open the letter in her presence and inform her of its contents, but naturally Harry had no intention of doing so. He laid the letter on top of the package, and gazed at Hogwarts' new headmistress.

"Thank you, Professor. I'm sure these things must be important for Professor Dumbledore to have gone to so much trouble. I will look at them carefully in my room, where my aunt and uncle won't be able to see them." Thus Harry foreclosed the chance that McGonagall would be able to learn the contents of the letter. She demonstrated no surprise by this turn of events.  
"Very well, Mr. Potter. Unless you have any questions for me, I will take my leave." Harry felt reluctant to continue the conversation, but he remained hungry for information.

"Well, Professor, can you tell me anything about what is going on now? What is happening to the Order of the Phoenix? What is Voldemort up to? Is Hogwarts going to open next term?"

"There is little I can tell you at this time, Mr. Potter. Now is not the time or place. I can inform you that it appears quite probable that Hogwarts will in fact open on September first as is the custom, though final details still remain to be resolved. Nevertheless, you can plan on boarding the Hogwarts Express for one last journey to your school. With regard to your other questions, perhaps I will be able to provide you with more information once you have left this house."

Once again, Harry was being brushed off, but he refused to beg.

"Very well, Professor. Thank you for coming." Harry stood up, indicating that the time for her to leave had arrived.

Professor McGonagall lifted her handbag over her shoulder and proceeded towards the door about to leave when Harry remembered.

"Wait a minute, Professor, I almost forgot." Harry rushed to the kitchen, snatched the sweater and handed it to her.

"Thank you, Harry." She smiled slightly, which was as much as she ever smiled. "I hope to see you shortly. Please let us know when you intend to leave. Send a letter to Remus Lupin, and he will make the arrangements."

"OK, I will. Thanks again, Professor." Harry gave a quick wave as she hurried away from the front door. Returning to the sitting room, Harry's heart began to race wondering what Dumbledore had written him and what the package contained. Maybe, just maybe, it would be information that could help him with his task. He grabbed the items and rushed up the stairs, feeling a drop of hope in his heart for the first time in weeks.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

He Fears You More

Harry gazed at the letter and package from Dumbledore, which he had set on his desk. As the time was getting late, and as he wanted to be sure not to be disturbed, he prepared himself for bed, noisily brushing his teeth in the bathroom so that everyone would know that he was turning in. Stepping out of the bathroom when he was done, Harry nearly bumped into Vernon, who had reemerged from his room.

"She gone now?" Vernon half asked and half stated.

"Yeah" replied Harry, "I'm going to bed now. It looks like I'll be leaving in four or five days."

"Hmph," grunted Vernon, who looked disappointed at that news as he passed by Harry heading to the kitchen for an early midnight snack. Harry knew that this "snack" would be more than most people eat in an entire day.

But there was no time to dwell on Vernon's eating habits. Harry forced himself to walk back to his room calmly, quietly shut the door, and for good measure turned the lock, even though he had no fear that any of his family would want to enter. With these preliminaries out of the way, Harry felt his heart pounding in his chest as he again considered the two items.

Deciding to save the letter for last, Harry as quietly as he could tore off the plain brown paper and twine around the package. Immediately Harry could see that the package was magically altered so that it held more than would be possible under the normal rules of physics. This no longer surprised or affected Harry in any way, as after six years among wizards and witches, he had finally adjusted to these seemingly impossible feats. He briefly surveyed the contents of the package and carefully began removing its contents.

Most prominent was Dumbledore's pensieve, which Harry had entered a number of times over the past years. He held the pensieve in his hands with reverence, as he knew that such items were not common, were quite expensive, and were difficult to make. A good pensieve, such as this one, would have taken months of effort by a skilled pensieve craftsman. Harry closed his eyes for a moment and his thoughts drifted back to a conversation he had with his best friend, Hermione Granger, a year or two before.

"What I don't understand, Hermione, is why doesn't everyone have a pensieve. They're really useful, but the only one I've ever seen is Dumbledore's."

"Oh, that's easy. I read about them in a really interesting book; I think it was called Pensieves through the Ages or something like that. Pensieves are really hard to make, and there are only a few skilled craftsmen in the whole world. There are none in England, or at least there weren't when the book was written, so any pensieve sold in Britain has to be imported and are really expensive. Dumbledore's probably is worth thousands of galleons. To make one, you need specific ingredients - I don't remember what they were - but they are uncommon and expensive. Then the craftsman has to prepare three or four really complicated potions that take months to complete, and then the potions are mixed in precise portions with the other ingredients. Finally, several secret spells have to be performed just right. The spells have been passed down for centuries and are closely guarded secrets. In fact the spells are slightly different among different craftsmen, and there is a lot of debate about which pensieves are the best." Hermione managed to say all of this without taking a breath, and Harry and his other best friend, Ron Weasley, hung their mouths open in amazement.

When she had to stop for a moment to breathe, Ron managed to say, "Is there anything you don't know, Hermione?"

"And how can you say so much without stopping to breathe," added Harry.

Hermione pursed her lips in that smugly satisfied expression of hers which feigned disapproval. "Well, it is interesting, you know. I just thought you might like to learn something for a change."

"Yeah, you're right, it really is interesting. I had no idea they were so hard to make, but I guess that makes sense; otherwise, everyone would have one. I'm not sure I would want one though; not a lot of memories in my life that I'd really like to relive," commented Harry, drawing a worried expression from Hermione.

Back to reality, Harry examined the intricately carved exterior of the pensieve before carefully setting it on the middle of his desk, as far away from the edges as possible. In a smaller container, Harry saw several vials which he knew were the memories which Dumbledore and Harry had studied just a few weeks ago. It looked to Harry, however, that there were more vials than what he had viewed with Dumbledore. He would have to look into that later.

Reaching back into the box, Harry carefully lifted two books which had been wrapped in plain brown paper by the headmaster with a notation "for Harry Potter." Harry unwrapped the paper carefully; he knew the books must have been a part of Dumbledore's personal library. Dumbledore, of course, had a library that was perhaps unmatched in all the world, not for its size but for the rarity of many of its volumes. Both of these books were quite thin, not more than fifty pages or so. The first appeared to be ancient and was simply entitled Horcruxes . The second book was not exactly new but by appearance was less than one hundred years old. On the cover was stamped a large red RESTRICTED, and Harry determined that it was a part of a series of books called The Advanced Wizard's Resource for the Dangerous and Unusual . The title of this book was only slightly less simple than the first: What is Known about Horcruxes. Obviously Dumbledore wanted Harry to learn what there was to learn about Horcruxes, which from the look of these underfed books was not a lot.

Harry was next surprised to pull out two muggle-style spiral notebooks, one with a worn green cover and the other with a new red one. Flipping the pages, Harry immediately recognized the unique script of the headmaster and realized that these were his personal notes, most likely about his search for Voldemort's horcruxes. Why Dumbledore used muggle notebooks was a mystery, but Dumbledore was nothing if not unpredictable. The worn notebook was completely full while the newer one only had about ten pages of notes. These notes, Harry knew, were invaluable, and the drop of hope which entered Harry's heart before he opened the package had grown to a wave. He had someplace to start.

Thinking that the package was now empty, Harry reached out to move it away but felt that something else was inside. He reached in and pulled out a bag of lemon drops, Dumbledore's favorite treat. Harry's surprise was immediately replaced first by a smile, then a constriction in his chest and throat, and finally a throttled grunt as Harry worked hard to keep his composure. Such a simple gift would have been meaningless to most, but Harry knew that this was Dumbledore's unique way of showing the love and affection he had for Harry, and Harry realized more that ever how much he missed the old man. Although Harry was not especially fond of lemon drops, in honor of his departed mentor, he popped one into his mouth.

Finally the moment had arrived. Not sure why, Harry found himself reluctant to open the letter. What would it say? For no reason other than delay, Harry turned the envelope over several times, examining who knows what carefully. The front of the envelope simply stated, "To be given to Harry Potter in the event of my death. Albus Dumbledore." Not finding any other reason to postpone it, Harry finally slit open the envelope with his small pocketknife. He pulled out three long pieces of parchment filled with Dumbledore's familiar handwriting.

**_Dear Harry, _**

Given the fact that you are reading this letter, you are of course aware that I have moved on to the next adventure. I am quite aware, Harry, of the difficulty my death will cause you, and for that I am sincerely sorry. It is my hope that by means of this letter, and the several items to be delivered with it, I can provide you with some additional information to assist you in your quest.

I am aware of certain facts which lead me to believe that my death may be imminent, though as I write this I am hopeful that I shall be able to avoid that fate for at least a while longer. However, it appears that I have failed. As you know, Harry, you must continue down the path which we have begun together. Know that you have my utmost confidence, and I am sure of your ultimate success.

As I write this, you have done me the great favor of recovering the vital memory from Professor Slughorn, which we viewed together just a few days ago. Moreover, I believe that I have located one of Voldemort's horcruxes, and I have decided to take you with me in the attempt to find and destroy it. Doubtlessly, this will be a dangerous endeavor, and I have debated long and hard whether I should take you with me. In the end, the choice is clear. I am an old man, Harry, and though you may not realize it, my powers are gradually diminishing. I need your help. Voldemort will not have left such a prized possession without ample protection, and I fear that I may not survive the effort I must make. You have proven yourself to me, Harry, and from now on you will be my companion in adventure. Only you will know the success or failure of our attempt to destroy another piece of Voldemort's soul.  
If I am not mistaken, you will have already opened the package with certain items I would like you to have. The pensieve and memories, of course, are self-explanatory. You may have noticed two additional memories to the ones which we viewed together. These are two of my own memories of chance meetings I had with Tom Riddle. The first is on Knockturn Alley and the second is on Diagon Alley. I have not gleaned any helpful information from them, but I feel there is something there that I am missing. Perhaps you can find what I cannot. Do not dwell unduly on the memories, as I believe you already know what you need, but there may come a time when a review of these memories may serve to assist you.

Before I go on, Harry, I should mention that I have not provided for you in my Will. You are already an extremely wealthy young man and have no need of more, and if I am not mistaken, you would prefer not to inherit from me. I have made arrangements for my estate to be held in trust for a number of causes dear to me, including Hogwarts. My pensieve, however, is perhaps my most prized possession, and it pleases me greatly to know that you will take possession of it. A word of warning, however. You will recall my words when I found you with the Mirror of Erised. The same can be true of a pensieve. Many have succumbed to the temptation to relive their past, forgetting to live in the present. Use it wisely.

You by now have seen the two books from my library. These are the only two books on horcruxes that I have discovered. Obviously you should read these books, else I would not have given them to you, but do not assume that the contents of the books are correct in all respects. The reality of the matter is that little is conclusively known about horcruxes. As you can understand, it is a difficult subject to study, and much of the books are rank conjecture. I have noted my disagreement with certain assertions in the margin, and you will notice that in many respects the two books are contradictory. Nevertheless, they have been of some use to me.

With regard to my two notebooks, these contain a record of my findings in my search for the horcruxes. Again, do not assume that all of this information is reliable, for it is the work of a fallible human being. You already know many of my conclusions, especially the conclusions of which I have greatest confidence, but I have written less certain ideas, some of which may turn out to have validity. May my work provide you with a starting point for your mission.

Note that I have used muggle notebooks and a ball point pen. Why not quill and parchment? Because muggle paper and pens are far superior to quills and parchments. There is an important lesson in this, Harry. We wizards and witches have so segregated ourselves from the muggle world that we fail to appreciate that muggles are far more accomplished and inventive than we are. Electric lighting is vastly superior to candles and oil lamps, yet we refuse to admit to the obvious. Do not forget your muggle roots, Harry, for I believe that they will be of great benefit to you in your struggle. Remember that Voldemort has turned his back on all things muggle and considers them inherently inferior. Do not make the same mistake!

This next statement may be hard for you to accept, Harry, as I do not know the circumstances of my death. You must believe me when I tell you that I trust Professor Snape and that you must as well. No matter how Professor Snape may or may not have been involved in my death, I am completely sure of his loyalty. One of my greatest failures has been my inability to facilitate an end to hostilities between the two of you, and I am fully aware that I was foolish to believe this ever to be possible. Nevertheless, Professor Snape is not a disciple of Lord Voldemort, no matter what has occurred to make you think otherwise. I cannot overstate the importance of this statement, Harry. If you do not trust Professor Snape, then you likely will fail in your task!

Had I lived, I intended to take you to your parents' home at Godric's Hollow on your seventeenth birthday. It is important for your development as a wizard, I have reason to believe, that you visit your first home on the date of your majority. There you will find the graves of your parents. Place your hands on their graves. Once you do so, you will understand.

I will leave you with one last thought. Have you ever considered that however much you may fear Lord Voldemort, he fears you more. Undoubtedly you are shaking your head with the certainty that your headmaster has at last lost all of his mental faculties, but I can assure you that while my body may be failing, my mind is completely sane. My statement is in fact quite plain to anyone who is aware of the facts. Voldemort feared you as a baby and went to extraordinary lengths to kill you before you could gain power, yet he failed spectacularly. He has since attempted to kill you in one way or another four more times, each ending in failure. Do you need more proof? I can assure you beyond any doubt that you are the only person ever to have successfully resisted Voldemort's imperius curse. Only a wizard of immense power could have done this. When your brother wands linked in the graveyard, a struggle of pure magical power ensued. A fourteen-year old half-blood, muggle-raised wizard defeated a great dark lord. At the Ministry, Voldemort's attempt to possess you again resulted in disaster for him. Can you not see that I am correct? Voldemort fears you!

Harry, you have the most raw magical power of any wizard I have ever known, including myself. Due to the tragic circumstances of your childhood, you have not yet realized the potential of this power. Remember that at its core, magic is simply the desire the make something happen and then causing it to happen. Spells and wand movements assist us, but desire and confidence are the key. Believe in yourself! Believe that you will succeed!

I have learned more from you Harry than from any other person in my overly long life. The pain which I have caused you during your short life has burdened me, and I can only once again ask for your forgiveness and understanding. Just as you are now, I was faced with difficult choices; sometimes I chose well, sometimes not. Yet in the end I have the comfort of knowing that you have turned out to be a better person than I could ever have hoped. Remember me kindly, Harry.

With great affection,

Albus Dumbledore

Snape! Harry could not believe Dumbledore's words, and the rest of the letter was a blur to him as he was overwhelmed by the hatred he felt for the man. Snape! Impossible! He killed Dumbledore right in front of Harry's eyes, and though the young wizard tried to force the memory from his mind, he would never forget the look of hatred on Snape's ugly face the moment before he pronounced the spell that took the headmaster's life. No, Dumbledore was fooled. Snape had been acting all those years, and if his act never convinced Harry, it fooled the professor. Snape! Harry had fantasized about how he would avenge Dumbledore's death, how he would make that evil man suffer, how he would physically abuse and mentally torture the man. In fact, Harry's hatred for Severus Snape reached deeper even than his hatred for Voldemort. At least Voldemort made no pretense of his intentions and his evil nature. Harry could understand Voldemort even if he hated him, but Snape was another matter altogether. Snape deceived. He toyed with people's minds, especially Harry's. How could Dumbledore have written that? How could he expect Harry to trust such a man?

Somehow Harry had ended up sitting on the floor of his room with his back against the wall at the foot of his bed, though he was not sure how he arrived at that position. Apparently he had been there for some time for he felt stiffness in his back, and the discomfort finally snapped him out of the Snape-induced stupor. He stood, stretched his back, and then glanced at the letter which was now lying on the carpet.

A twinge of doubt entered Harry's mind, and though he tried to suppress it, he could not. Could Dumbledore be right? Usually he was, though he had made his fair share of mistakes. Still, he sounded so sure. It was all too much, and Harry threw himself on his bed exhausted. In a moment he was asleep


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The Game is On

When he awoke, Harry felt anything but rested, and immediately his mind shifted back into overdrive. He reread Dumbledore's letter. When he finished reading it, he read it again, except that he skipped over the paragraph about Professor Snape.

A certain calmness came over Harry. For the moment he would push Snape out of his mind. Harry realized that other than that paragraph, the letter gave him hope. While Harry could not agree with Dumbledore's assessment of Harry's capabilities as a wizard, he nevertheless could not help but be filled with pride at his mentor's kind words. Moreover, he now had something that he could do. He could view the new memories to see if he could discover something that the professor could not. He could read the two horcrux books and Dumbledore's notebooks. Who knows where that would lead him, but anywhere was better than his current location, which was nowhere.

After reading the two thin volumes, Harry understood Dumbledore's reticence, as they contained little hard fact but much conjecture. Dumbledore had written so many notes of disagreement in the margins, that Harry could not help but shake his head in confusion. Both books described horcruxes and how to make one in a similar fashion, but Harry already knew that information. The ancient text was difficult to read with its antiquated language, but quite clearly it asserted that only an inanimate object could serve as a horcrux. Dumbledore's note in the margin stated: "No evidence for this. Can see no reason why animate object cannot be used." The newer book simply referred to "an object" without qualification. Harry knew of Dumbledore's belief that Voldemort's giant snake, Nagini, may be a horcrux. If the ancient text was correct, Nagini could not be. Which was correct, the book or Dumbledore? How could you find out without trying to create a horcrux yourself. This of course was the fundamental problem: How can you write about horcruxes unless you create one to study, and to do that, you must commit murder.

Harry needed to think, and he needed to escape the confines of his room. He realized that he had not left his bedroom since 10:00 pm and his small digital clock displayed 11:45 am. Hunger reawakened in his stomach as well, so Harry quickly showered, dressed and made himself lunch, given that he had missed breakfast. Fortunately the house was empty, which was the way Harry liked it best. He brushed his teeth, did not bother combing his hair, and headed out the door before any of his family could return. This would be an especially long walk, as he had much to think about.

The air was warm and pleasant, and the stroll was so enjoyable that for a few minutes Harry did not think about much of anything. Thoughts of his friends flashed through his mind, and thoughts of Ginny. He immediately repressed these latter thoughts.

"I cannot be worrying about girls," he repeated like a mantra whenever thoughts of the handsome redhead invaded his consciousness. Surprisingly, Harry did not regret his decision to break up with her and did not find himself dwelling on it. Of course, Ginny was not physically in his presence, and Harry worried about going to the Burrow where he could no longer avoid her. Neither had written during their weeks apart, and for that Harry gave thanks, as deep down he knew that the depth of his self-control was highly questionable. For the moment, however, he pushed her image from his mind and decided to focus on the issues at hand.

"I need a plan," Harry quickly decided, and he figured he should deal with first things first. When would he leave the Dursley's? He had looked forward to that day for virtually his entire life, yet now that the day was upon him, actually making the move became difficult. This was the calm before the storm. "It all starts as soon as I leave," Harry muttered to himself. He felt like a child climbing the ladder to a high diving board for the first time. If he just stayed here forever. . . . . But that was not an option, for Harry knew that the protection afforded him by his mother's sacrifice would end upon his 17th birthday, which was now less than two weeks away. It was time to go.

Still, he could wait a few more days. Dumbledore's notebooks awaited him, the new memories needed to be viewed, and he needed some time to absorb it all. Then he would move to Grimmauld Place so that the necessary protections could be reinstated. He needed to have his home as a refuge for the months ahead, for Harry had reaffirmed a second decision: Regardless of whether it opened on September first, he would not attend Hogwarts for his seventh year. He simply could not do what needed to be done unless he could have absolute freedom to come and go as he pleased, and he knew very well that Headmistress McGonagall would never agree to such a condition. The thought of not returning to his true "home" saddened him, and he made his way to the little park where he had spoken with Tonks the previous afternoon and sat almost motionless on the same bench, lost in his thoughts.

"Do you come around here often, handsome?" Harry was shocked out of his trance and his stomach lurched above his throat as his mind desperately tried to assimilate what had just occurred. A young woman with a seductive voice had just thrown him the most trite come-on line, but he realized that the voice was familiar, and . . . . Hermione! It was Hermione's voice! Harry jumped up and turned to the broadly smiling faces of his best friends, Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley.

"You nearly killed me, Hermione; don't ever do that again," Harry gasped, but the smile on his face belied his true feelings. "How are you guys doing? What are you doing here?" Harry managed to ask.

"We asked for permission to see you, supposedly to check on how you're holding up 'under the strain', but really we just wanted to see you," explained Ron, still grinning with pleasure from surprising Harry so thoroughly.

"Ron really did all the work because I've been with my parents, but they said it would be OK to see you this afternoon," added Hermione. Harry could not help but notice that his female best friend was a female indeed, dressed in close-fitting muggle clothing that did not hide her like wizarding robes did. The young man approved of the change of wardrobe whole-heartedly.  
Harry stepped to the side of the park bench, and Hermione and he embraced. Both could feel a great deal more emotion than a simple welcoming hug. Clearly the past couple of weeks had been hard on all of them. Releasing Hermione, Harry gave Ron a more manly hug, wrapping his left arm around Ron's back, as Ron reciprocated with his right arm.

"Well, I think it's brilliant that you two are here. It hasn't been so bad this year, but it's lonely sometimes. Thanks so much."

Ron and Hermione could feel the emotion in Harry's quavering voice, and neither said anything for a moment.

Finally Hermione commented, "We can't stay all that long, Harry, only an hour or two. Let's sit down so that we can talk."

"Right," replied Harry, remembering his manners. After all, this was his home territory so to speak, so he was the host. "There are some better benches over here where it's easier to talk. Come on." He led them some fifty yards to a couple of freshly varnished benches which formed an L under several stately Magnolia trees. Harry sat on the edge of one of them, Ron and Hermione sitting on the other. "So, what have you been doing, Hermione?"

"Oh I've been with my parents, and it's been nice. I see them so little anymore, and now this is our last summer. Sometimes I feel guilty about being away from them so much. But we can talk about that later, Harry. How have you been doing?"

Harry knew that Ron and Hermione wanted to talk about horcruxes and Harry's plans. They had promised to come with Harry, to be a part of the quest, to face the danger with him. Harry, however, did not want to move the conversation in that direction just yet.

"Like I said, it hasn't been so bad. In fact this has probably been my best summer since I entered Hogwarts. My aunt and uncle pretty much leave me alone, and Dudley is always out with his gang. It's a little lonely, but maybe it's a good thing to have a little down time, you know. Anyway, I don't think I'll be here much longer. My birthday is coming up and then the protection here ends. Not much harm in leaving a week early."

"Are you coming to the Burrow then?" asked Ron hopefully.

"Not at first, going to . . . ." Harry paused, not wanting to say the address of his house out in the open, "my house for a couple of days. There are some things we need to do about its security. Then I think I'll head over to the Burrow a little before my birthday, if that will be OK with your mum and dad."

"Of course it will, Harry. That will be great, and then you can stay for Bill's wedding, which is only two days later," Ron insisted, clearly pleased to be having his best friend at his house.

"Yeah, that's what I thought. I'll need to take my apparation test too, so I thought I would take care of that between my birthday and the wedding. Do you have your license yet, Ron?"

Ron smiled, "Yep, finally passed the test last week. Third try. I'm getting better at it, but I don't think I'll ever really like it."

Harry nodded in understanding, but Hermione clearly was not interested in these mundane matters.

"But what are you going to do after that, Harry," Hermione asked, and lowering her voice almost to a whisper, "Do you know where you need to go first. Have you learned anything during the summer."

Should I tell them about the letter, Harry pondered. He wanted to, but they were out in the open, and he was reluctant to say anything, unless. . .

"Look, some things have happened, just last night, but we can't talk about it here, unless we use the spell," Harry explained in a voice just above a whisper.

"No, Harry, you should forget all of the Half Blood Prince's spells. There's nobody close, just speak softly." Hermione pursed her lips as she always did when discussing the Prince.

"This is not a game, Hermione, either one of you guys does the spell, or we'll talk about the weather," Harry replied harshly, leaving no doubt that he meant what he said. Being underage still, he could not perform the spell without risking a Ministry inquiry.

Hermione was torn between her distrust of anything to do with the Prince, who they now knew was Professor Snape, and her desire to learn what was happening from Harry. Predictably she caved in.

"Oh OK. Muffliato," she spoke after discretely reaching for her wand, "There, no one can hear us now."

After checking to be sure, Harry leaned toward his friends, "McGonagall came to see me last night." He proceeded to relate his visit with the new headmistress, and Ron and Hermione paid close attention

Harry then described the contents of the package from Dumbledore, and his friends were excited that there would be more information for them to examine in their joint search for the horcruxes. Hermione noticed that Harry did not tell them about the letter. She was not sure if she should pursue it, but as usual she could not help herself.

"What about the letter, Harry. What did it say? Can we read it?"

"Well," replied Harry, "a lot of it is pretty personal. He sort of says some nice things about me, and it's, well, it's kind of embarrassing." His friends knew not to pursue it further. Harry's face hardened however and he continued, "But I'll tell you one thing that he wrote. Dumbledore says I have to trust Snape. He says that no matter what it looks like, no matter how Snape may have been involved in Dumbledore's death, Snape is not a death eater." Harry unknowingly stood up while saying this, pacing in front of his friends, staring daggers at them. "But I saw it with my own eyes. I saw the look on Snape's face. I heard him say the killing curse." Harry stopped pacing and stared at his friends, boring a hole through them.

Ron was intimidated by Harry's sudden mood swing, but Hermione with some trepidation pushed on.

"I know, Harry. Maybe Dumbledore was wrong this time; he's been wrong before. But if he is right, (she saw Harry scowl) well, we just need to keep in mind what Dumbledore said. We shouldn't jump to any conclusions, one way or the other."

Harry calmed himself a bit and sat back down. He could accept this position.

"Yeah, you're right. But it's so hard. I can't even tell you the things that I want to do to the evil, greasy-haired git, and then Dumbledore says I have to trust him. I may have to work with him. How am I supposed to do that?" spat Harry, who again could not stay seated.

"I don't know, Harry," replied Hermione, who knew better than to push this further.

Changing the subject, Harry remarked, "I read the two horcrux books. One is really ancient. Not a lot of help though. I'll let you read them, Hermione, when we get to the Burrow, but the truth is that nobody really knows much about horcruxes. I mean, how do you study them. You can't just go around committing murders so that you can split your soul into a horcrux and then write a book about it. The books contradict each other quite a few times, and Dumbledore wrote a bunch of things in the margins disagreeing with parts of both books."

"What about the notebooks, Harry, what do they say?" asked Ron, relieved that the topic of conversation had moved away from Snape and that Harry had calmed.

"Haven't had a chance to read them yet," explained Harry, "Going to start on them tonight, and I'll look at the other two memories too, even though Dumbledore doesn't think they help. Still, we can't overlook anything, can we?" Harry realized that he had used the word "we" without thinking, and he realized that this was good and proper. "I can't tell you guys how much I appreciate you being willing to help. It's going to be so hard," Harry's voice choked slightly, "and it's going to be dangerous."

Hermione reached over to grab Harry's hand, pulled him up, and sat him down again between Ron and her.

"Listen, Harry, we are going to help anyway that we can. The three of us make a pretty good team. We all have our strengths and weaknesses, but together, we can do so much."  
"That's right, Harry. I mean you are so talented and powerful, and Hermione is so smart, and I'm, well, I don't know what I can do other than play chess, but we've been through so much together, and we aren't going to stop now," contributed Ron.

Harry's heart filled with emotion, and he could barely speak. Wrapping his right arm around Hermione and his left around Ron, he finally choked out one word, "Thanks."

Since they still had another half hour before Hermione and Ron had to leave, Harry offered to show them around the neighborhood. For Hermione, a muggle-born and raised witch, this was nothing special, but Ron, a pure-blood, looked on in amazement. Ron had been to muggle stores and such from time to time during his life, always under the nervous protection of his mother, but he had never seen a real muggle neighborhood.

Harry and Hermione enjoyed Ron's amazed looks, as he learned many tidbits about muggle life - how to cross the street, mail delivery, children playing football in the side streets.

"Muggles are really amazing," exclaimed Ron, "it really wouldn't be so bad to be one, would it?"

Hermione thought this was funny and good-naturedly badgered Ron about his ignorance of the muggle world, but Harry did not join in. He thought back to what Dumbledore had written in his letter: **_"We wizards and witches have so segregated ourselves from the muggle world that we fail to appreciate that muggles are far more accomplished and inventive than we are."_** Hermione noticed, as she always did, Harry's sudden pensiveness.

"What are you thinking about, Harry?"

"What? Oh, just something Dumbledore wrote in his letter," and Harry quoted the statement for them.

"Yes, I know that Dumbledore felt that way; we had a few conversations about it." commented Hermione. "Did you know that as a young man he actually lived as a muggle for a couple of years? He still worked in the magical world, but he lived in a muggle flat, shopped, cooked and did everything like a muggle for about three years. Dumbledore told me that he learned more in those three years than in all his years in the magical world."

"Wow, I never knew that," Harry responded, and his admiration for the old man only increased. "That's why he always seemed quite comfortable with muggles, because he found out that muggles really aren't much different from wizards and witches."

Ron felt ashamed that he knew so little about muggles.

"Maybe I should do something like that once we take care of You Know Who. I hate feeling so stupid when I am with muggles. It's so stupid that pure bloods look down on muggle-born wizards and witches. The muggle-borns really have the advantage, at least once they graduate from school, because they know how to live in both worlds. I really wish that I was a muggle-born wizard like you guys."

"Well, of course technically Harry is not muggle-born, but I know what you mean. Other than the discrimination we face from close-minded pure bloods, I'm happy that I am muggle-born." Hermione paused in thought for a moment. "Of course, it does have its disadvantages. Sometimes I feel like I am not really a part of either world, like I don't know who I am."

"I just wish I wanted to be a part of either world," muttered Harry with more than a touch of bitterness in his voice, "I hated every moment I spent in the muggle world, and then when I find out there is another world, there's some stupid prophecy, and people die, and . . . ." Harry's voice trailed off.

Ron fidgeted nervously but put his arm on Harry's shoulder, "Yeah, you haven't been dealt a very good hand, have you. I feel so stupid that I thought your life was so great, being famous and rich and all."

Hermione's face creased with worry after hearing Harry's comment.

She embraced Harry and softly told him, "I know it isn't fair, Harry. But you are going to defeat him, I know you will. Then everything will be different. It will get better."

Harry returned the hug. "I hope so, but I'm not so sure."

Ron and Hermione's visit lifted Harry's spirits enormously, and over the next three days, he busied himself with the remaining contents of Dumbledore's package. The two muggle notebooks were extremely interesting and helpful. They contained notes of Dumbledore's various findings and conclusions. At times the notes were cryptic and difficult for Harry to understand. Still, most of the notes were clear enough, and Harry once again felt amazed at the energy the old man displayed. Dumbledore had traveled all over England, Scotland and Wales pursuing various leads, and twice even traveled to the continent.

As Harry waded through the notes, he noticed that Dumbledore truly was a man of action, as whenever he came upon information pointing to a lead, he acted upon it within a matter of days. As would be expected, since Harry knew that only two of the Horcruxes had definitively been destroyed, most of the leads ended in dead ends.

Two nuggets of gold emerged however. Firstly, Dumbledore recorded how he located Slytherin's ring, which Harry gathered was quite an adventure in itself, though all Dumbledore recorded in his notebook were the following words, _"Quite enjoyable protections to the horcrux. Needed logic and cunning to overcome."_

If this was hardly a satisfying explanation of events, Dumbledore redeemed himself with a more detailed recounting of how he destroyed the ring. _"The ring resisted all normal attempts at destruction, as I expected. Unable to melt, crush, pulverize, transfigure, etc. Reducto curse had no effect. Even tried Avada Kedavra though I had no expectation of success. Determined that only hope was pure magical power. I had to put ring on finger, then battle it to the death. Exhausting. Power of horcrux is frightening, quite difficult to overcome. Only extremely powerful wizard or witch. My arm burned, actually withered, as a result. Has taken much out of me. Days to recover. But horcrux is destroyed. Could feel it when it died, though impossible to describe."_

"YES!" Harry was energized by this account for finally he had some hard information as to how to destroy a horcrux. Two confirmed destructions of horcruxes, Riddle's diary and Slytherin's ring. On Harry's walk that afternoon, he nearly lost himself, as he had walked so far without realizing it. Once he determined where he was, he changed his direction back towards Privet Drive and again immersed himself in his thoughts. Though not an especially organized person, Harry tried to number in his mind what could be concluded and boiled it down to three basic truths:

1. There is no spell or magical procedure to destroy a horcrux.  
2. It requires pure magical power. And lots of it.  
3. The horcrux fights back.

Harry compared his destruction of Riddle's diary to Dumbledore's fifteen-rounder with Slytherin's ring. There were clear differences, of course, the most glaring being that Harry was not physically injured by the horcrux. Dumbledore knew he was destroying a horcrux which Harry did not; nevertheless, Harry now recognized the massive amount of energy that he put into stabbing the diary. Not physical energy but emotional energy. Magical energy. Magical power. Dumbledore had to put the ring on his finger while Harry stabbed the diary after having "read" it, so to speak. Harry was not sure what to make of that, and he wished that Hermione was there.

Harry's heart soared with these realizations. He now had some idea as to what to do when (and if) he found a horcrux. And better than that, he knew that he could do it, because he had already done it, like when he produced the patronus by the lake in third year with the help of Hermione's time turner. Dumbledore's words from his letter etched themselves in Harry's mind: _"**Harry, you have the most raw magical power of any wizard I have ever known, including myself."**_ He remembered the first time anyone had called him a great wizard - Hermione, just before Harry recovered the Philosopher's Stone. Harry tried his best to convince himself that he really was a powerful wizard, even if he did not feel like one.

"I can throw off the imperious curse. I did push that bead down Voldemort's wand."

The other gem in Dumbledore's notebook was less certain but highly promising. On the last page of the second notebook, written apparently just a day or two before he died, Dumbledore thought he may have found the location of another horcrux, Hufflepuff's cup. Dumbledore, as Harry knew, kept up with the muggle press, and apparently he had read of the unusual nature of an artifact held in a suburban London museum. Apparently this artifact was reputed to have unusual characteristics, causing pain to anyone who touched it and sickening some people who merely walked by it. The museum moved the artifact, described as a medieval silver cup, to a cabinet somewhat removed from the public. Amazingly, according to the notebook, Dumbledore found this item in a London Times edition from twelve years earlier.

How did Dumbledore find this out, Harry wondered, until Harry noticed a final sentence from Dumbledore: _"The internet is a wonderful invention."_

Dumbledore used the internet? Harry was beyond amazed, as Harry himself had only a vague idea of what the internet was. Of course he had never even used a computer, as Dudley's was strictly off limits. All he knew was that the internet was some new-fangled fad that attracted a lot of nerds and that it was useful for finding information. Once again, Harry's admiration for the old man, as he had come to call him affectionately, increased dramatically. Dumbledore would not be contained by wizarding convention.

In any event, here was a great lead which needed to be investigated. Maybe it would result in a dead end, but at least he would be doing something instead of all of this reading and thinking. That is up Hermione's line, not mine, Harry thought. With sadness, Harry realized that Dumbledore probably would have taken Harry with him to try to retrieve the cup, and if it was in fact the horcrux, to try to destroy it. Harry could not wait to discuss this with Ron and Hermione. This would be their first action "in the field."

The time had finally arrived for Harry to view the two new memories. Harry was not anxious to dive into the pensieve this time, as he was reluctant to see the living Dumbledore again, and Harry toyed with the idea of not viewing the memories at all. After all, Dumbledore wrote that he did not see any importance to them, and if Dumbledore could not find anything, why should Harry be able. Curiosity and the fact that Dumbledore wanted him to see the memories finally prevailed. The first memory shone a pale silver in the vial, as Harry carefully poured it into the pensieve. Taking a deep breath, he touched his nose to the silvery substance and immediately fell into Dumbledore's memory.

Harry found himself on a depressing street a few paces behind a much younger Professor Dumbledore, who looked to be perhaps ten years older than he was when he first met Tom Riddle at the orphanage. Despite the different era of the scene, Harry recognized the street right away - Knockturn Alley. Dumbledore was striding forcefully down the center of the alley, and Harry did not have a chance to focus on the surroundings, but Knockturn Alley did not appear terribly different than now, Harry thought, and he knew that they were passing a number of, shall we say, unusual characters. One man walking menacingly in the other direction had the appearance of a vampire, but when he saw Dumbledore, the vampire's countenance changed. As they approached each other, Dumbledore slowed.

"Cassius, what a pleasant surprise to see you here," spoke the professor brightly, though Harry could not miss the hint of disdain in the voice.

"Professor," the vampire nodded in a grudging greeting, "I must say I am surprised to see you here." Vampires' voices were dark and silky and always made Harry shiver.

"My duties do occasionally require me to visit less picturesque places, Cassius, but I am pleased to report that my task here has been completed, and I will be leaving this byway to those who take greater comfort in it." Perhaps Dumbledore had some discomfort here, but he looked as calm and pleasant as if strolling along a beach.

"Yes, well, I shall not detain you then. Good day," replied Cassius, whom Harry could plainly see was nervous, and whose eyes involuntarily darted to his right and behind him twice during their brief conversation. Cassius sped away, and Dumbledore looked after him with a grim expression.

Dumbledore continued on his way when Harry recognized the store front of Borgen and Burkes, which had hardly changed a bit in many decades. Harry thought that the professor would enter the shop, since Tom Riddle was employed there for a short time after his graduation from Hogwarts. Instead he continued striding, with Harry rushing to keep up while trying to look around. Then suddenly from around a corner walked Tom Riddle, who appeared to be about the same age as he was in the memory at the old lady's house. Clearly Tom already was highly regarded in the underworld that was Knockturn Alley, based on how he strutted down the middle of the street, which opened up for him almost magically as other pedestrians moved out of his way. Dumbledore, of course, did not, and Riddle appeared upset at the perceived slight until he realized who stood in front of him.

Unlike the vampire, Tom Riddle at the approximate age of twenty did not back down from his former professor, but Harry saw that he quickly placed an item in his right hand into the pocket of his robe. Harry could not see what it was; perhaps an item of jewelry purchased on behalf of his employer. Dumbledore's expression was more severe than usual and he initiated a brief exchange of words.

"Hello Tom. Off to work then?"

Riddle's face was still handsome, yet Harry seemed to notice a difference from the other memory of this part of his life, though he was not able to put his finger on it.

"That's right," Tom responded, "I have been quite busy lately." He appeared to be tired, as if he had recently exerted himself and was now recovering. The two men eyed each other warily.

"I understand that you have been traveling lately, Tom," Dumbledore inquired. Riddle appeared to be surprised for a moment, but immediately recovered his impassive expression.

"Recently I went on holiday and thought I would experience a bit of the world," he replied vaguely, "you seem to keep yourself well informed of your former students' movements."

"Not all of them, Tom," Dumbledore voiced quietly.

"I must be on my way, Professor," said the young man with an irritated twist of his mouth. Then Harry saw it, unmistakably, a red flash in Riddle's eyes, much stronger than in the old lady memory. Instinctively Harry knew what this meant; Tom Riddle had created another horcrux between the two memories, which must have only been months, or perhaps weeks or days apart. Obviously the process of splitting one's soul had an effect on his appearance, and the repeated creation of horcruxes to come must have continued to disfigure him, until he barely appeared human. In fact, Harry considered, Voldemort barely was a human now, since he only had one-seventh (or perhaps an even smaller fraction) of his soul left. Since so little was known about horcruxes when Tom Riddle conceived his scheme, he could not have known of this side-effect.

The future Lord Voldemort strode confidently away, reaching his hand back into the pocket of the robe and removing the item, a chain dangling from his hand, and Harry knew that the memory had concluded. At this point Harry realized that he had never left a pensieve on his own; he had always been helped out, and for a moment he was not sure what to do. Dumbledore had simply lifted his elbow gently and they rose out. Harry bent his knees and then slightly jumped, and to his immense relief he felt the now-familiar sensation of being expelled from the pensieve and back into his bedroom.

This memory had not taken long, no more than five minutes. Harry knew what Dumbledore meant. There was something there, just below the surface, that he could not make out. Still, he had learned something, and he returned the memory to its vial and poured the remaining one into the large bowl. From the looks of it, this would be a short memory, as the silvery liquid barely covered the bottom. Taking a breath, Harry again took the pensieve plunge.

In fact the extremely short memory involved no dialogue at all. Professor Dumbledore, who appeared a few years older than in the previous memory, exited a shop on Diagon Alley, carrying a bundle in his arms. This time he strolled casually and in no hurry. Though Harry knew immediately where he was, he marveled at how much Diagon Alley had changed, as there were many different shops and restaurants. Many witches and wizards roamed the streets, but Harry saw nothing unusual. After a few seconds he wondered why Dumbledore had included this memory at all, when suddenly Harry saw him - Lord Voldemort. This was no longer Tom Riddle. His face had clearly transformed. While still human in nature, his eyes had narrowed, his skin was dry and pale and stretched across a bony face. The once handsome head boy now qualified for a muggle freak show. Dumbledore stopped and gazed in Voldemort's direction, and watched as Voldemort walked out of the bookstore and in the opposite direction, apparently not noticing his former professor. After a few more seconds, the memory ended, and Harry again rose out of the pensieve and back onto the carpeted floor of his bedroom.

It had all happened so quickly, perhaps thirty seconds, that Harry dove into the memory to view it again. The transformation of Tom Riddle to Lord Voldemort was frightening, and Harry had to convince himself that this was in fact the same person, and not some other unpleasant creature of the magical world. Indeed, Dumbledore himself appeared shocked. The professor seemed to consider whether he should catch up with his former student, but for reasons only he knew, did not. Voldemort's manner of walking had transformed as much as his appearance. No longer did he have the stride of a confident, handsome, virile young man. He walked now with a slight limp yet glided away as if barely moving his feet.  
This memory, Harry considered after returning to his bedroom, merely confirmed that Tom Riddle had undoubtedly created more horcruxes, as Harry could not see how the transformation could have resulted from only one additional split of his soul.

"Maybe it gets worse with each time," he muttered to himself, "Maybe Voldemort got more than he bargained for." Still, by then Voldemort knew the side effects yet continued creating horcruxes. Immortality was more important than being a pretty face.

Harry again roamed the streets of Little Whinging considering all of the new information since his meeting with McGonagal. On one hand, Harry was relieved. At least he had a place to start, and from there, well, he would just have to adjust to whatever fate delivered. On the other hand, Harry was semi-paralyzed with fear. The time had come to leave Privet Drive.

In his bench at the park, Harry saw that no one was around and then spoke to the air, "Who is here watching me?"

"Me again, Harry," said Tonks.

"Can you show yourself so that we can talk. Try not to look too conspicuous," Harry added knowing the unconventional taste of the metamorphagus.

Tonks must have ducked behind a bush to take off the invisibility cloak and then walked towards Harry's bench with a smile. Her hair was spiked with four or five different colors streaked through it, red and yellow and who knows what more.

"I asked you to be inconspicuous, Tonks," sighed Harry, though he could not suppress a grin.

"I am," replied Tonks, "What do you want to talk about?"

"Professor McGonagall said I should contact Lupin about when I wanted to leave, but I thought I could talk to you." Harry paused. "I'm ready to go."

"Great, Harry. What time should we come for you tomorrow?"

"How about 11:00 in the morning. My aunt and uncle will be gone, and I'm sure they would rather not be there when you guys come. I'll let them know tonight that I'm going, that way they can prepare for the big celebration party," joked Harry with bitterness.

"OK, Harry. I'll make the arrangements. Where will you be going?" asked Tonks.

"Grimmauld Place first," replied Harry, and Tonks nodded her understanding. They said their goodbyes and Tonks walked away to put on the invisibility cloak again.  
The young wizard stood up and looked around the park that he may never see again. It was about the only place he liked around Privet Drive, but he could not honestly say he would miss it. The time had come.

As Harry directed himself back one last time to 4 Privet Drive, one thought ran through his head, "The game is on."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

It's a Mess

Returning to No. 12 Grimmauld Place depressed Harry as it always did, but this time not so much due to memories of his late godfather, Sirius Black, from whom he inherited the house, as to the empty, lonely feeling in the mansion. In the past, the house bustled with activity, both from the presence of his friends and use of the house by the Order of the Phoenix. The Order could no longer utilize the house as its headquarters, given the treason of Severus Snape, a former member of the Order. Before Dumbledore died, the house was protected by the secret keeper spell, but since Dumbledore had been the secret keeper and was now deceased, Snape presumably could reveal the address to anyone. Amazingly, so far as anyone knew, neither Snape, Voldemort nor any of his death eaters had attempted to attack 12 Grimmauld Place since the headmaster died.

Tonks, McGonagall and a few others had escorted Harry to his house, and McGonagall then led Harry through the series of spells needed to replace the anti-apparation spell, as well as other protections that Harry only half understood. He also took the necessary steps to control the floo network to the house, deciding to close the floo in the kitchen all together and to limit the floo in the sitting room to persons given written authorization by Harry. Even with these protections, the Order would not use the house any longer, as it simply could not run the risk, but at least Harry could live there in relative safety. In any event, it would be much safer than 4 Privet Drive after July 31st, Harry's birthday.

Later in the afternoon, while chatting idly with Tonks, Remus Lupin arrived to help Harry with the final protection to the residence. Tonks took her leave to return to her auror duties, and Harry and Remus were alone. Each thought of how much the other man had lost in his life; neither dwelling on his own losses. In addition, Harry felt for his former professor, now exposed to the wizarding world as a werewolf, and as such subject to blatant discrimination. Lupin worked for the Order, but the Order consisted of volunteers. In other words, Lupin did not have a paying job, and his financial distress greatly distressed Harry, who through no merit of his own was a wealthy young man who would never need to worry about finances. The young man had many things to worry about, but gold was not one of them.

When Tonks had left, Harry felt able to speak freely with his father's last living friend. "Profes. . . I mean, Remus, what can you tell me about what is going on?"

"Well, Harry, I can tell you pretty much everything, because not much is happening. Voldemort has been lying low since Professor Dumbledore died. There were several attacks in the week after the funeral, but nothing for the last two weeks. Don't ask me why, because nobody knows. Of course there is no word on Snape, whom I expect is laughing by Voldermort's side." Remus uttered this last sentence with the same bitterness that Harry felt.

"What about the Order? Tonks told me it's in chaos right now," asked Harry.  
Remus paused before answering, "I guess you may as well know, Harry. The Order is in complete disarray. A few of the members think it should disband and that Voldemort should be left to the Ministry." Harry scoffed at this notion, and Remus nodded his head, "My feelings exactly, Harry. Part of the group wants either Arthur Weasley or me to serve as head of the Order while another part prefers Kingsley Shacklebolt. But the problem isn't so much who will be the new leader, though that is certainly important; the real problem is that the Order has lost its nerve. Nobody wants to put together a coherent strategy to counter Voldemort. I wish I could be more optimistic, Harry, but things just are not going well."

Indeed Harry could tell this just by looking at Remus. The middle aged man appeared to have aged ten years in the past three weeks and was haggard and drawn. Surprising himself, Harry was not overly upset about the state of the Order, and in fact he was only mildly interested. After desiring for two years to be a part of the Order, Harry now knew that he must remain separate from it. Dumbledore had never told anyone in the Order about the prophecy or the horcruxes. If Dumbledore felt he must keep this information from the knowledge of the Order, then he must have had good reason. Voldemort still did not know the full prophecy, and Harry needed to take care to keep it that way.

"You guys will get it together before long," Harry remarked unconvincingly. "I think you or Mr. Weasley would be fine leaders, or Kingsley for that matter. You should just pick one and get on with it."

"You are completely correct, Harry, and Arthur, Kingsley and I have all three offered to bow out in favor of the others, but this just provokes more argument." Remus leaned back in his chair and sighed, "It's a mess, Harry."

Each man lost himself in his thoughts, though their thoughts were on different subjects. Finally, Lupin shook his head and stood. "Let's get to the business at hand, Harry."

In order to establish a new secret keeper, several steps needed to be taken. The first of these was to renumber the house; otherwise, anyone who had previously been given the address of 12 Grimmauld Place could still locate the mansion even if a new secret keeper was designated. Fortunately renumbering the house was as easy as placing new numbers by the front door. Harry decided to pick the number 17 in honor of his birthday, so Remus transfigured the 2 into a 7 and then adhered the two numbers to the front of the house with a sticking spell. No. 12 Grimmauld Place was now No. 17 Grimmauld Place, and anyone coming to the first address would not be able to see anything, even though completely sure of the location. Harry shook his head and thought to himself, "Magic is incredible."

The most important decision, of course, was whom to designate as the secret keeper. Harry and Remus named all the possibilities: Hermione, Ron, Remus, Tonks, McGonagall, Hagrid, Arthur or Molly Weasley, even Fred or George Weasley (though they realized the confusion that might cause and the humor the fun-loving twins could make of it). This was such a difficult and important decision, that Harry and Remus went round and round with the pros and cons of each person. Foremost in Harry's mind was the possibility that one of these people could be captured and forced to provide the information by means of torture or by veritaserum, the truth-telling potion. Harry thought that the secret keeper should be someone he trusts completely yet would be unsuspected by Voldemort and his henchmen.

Suddenly the light bulb lit over Harry's head. "Remus," he inquired, "does the secret keeper have to be a human? We've talked about Hagrid and you being secret keepers, but under the law, as stupid as it is, neither of you are considered human. At least not completely human." Harry was not quite sure how to put it, but Remus nodded his head in understanding.

"Yes, I remember discussing that very point with your parents and Dumbledore, and Dumbledore said that I would be able to act as secret keeper if they wished, so I guess a non-human can act. Why? What are you thinking?" asked Remus with his eyebrow raised.

"I'll tell you in a minute, but I want to think this over for a while. Would you mind leaving me alone for half and hour or so, Remus. I promise I'll make my decision by then"

"Sure," responded Remus, "I need to check on something anyway. Can you give me written authorization to use the floo?"

Harry quickly scribbled out "Remus Lupin is authorized to use the floo at No. 17 Grimmauld Place," which Harry hoped would do the trick. Remus read the note, nodded his head, and in a moment was gone in a flash of flames.

When Harry was sure Remus had left he said loudly, "Dobby, can you come here please?" Harry had barely finished the sentence when Dobby arrived with a pop. He was particularly well-dressed, at least in Dobby's mind, as the elf had clothes of every color and variety known to man covering every inch of his body except his face and hands. Harry worked hard to suppress a chuckle.

"Harry Potter, sir," began Dobby with his unique nervous excitement, "Harry Potter called Dobby. Dobby is happy to be of service to Harry Potter."

"Thank you, Dobby. I appreciate you being here." Harry paused as the tiny house elf shuffled his feet before him, not being quite sure how to proceed. Finding no better way, Harry asked, "Dobby, do you know what a secret keeper is?"

"Oh yes, Harry Potter, Dobby knows. Dobby hears masters, bad masters, talk about secret keepers. Secret Keepers keep houses secret, Dobby thinks, but Dobby does not know how it works. Masters never said anything to Dobby, Dobby only hears his masters," Dobby explained in his convoluted style. Harry was used to Dobby's manner of speaking and understood him perfectly.

"Right. Well Dobby, I was wondering if you would agree to be my secret keeper for this house. The way it works is that nobody can come to this house unless you tell them the address either by speaking it or writing it to them. It is a way to control who can come to my house, because I need to be safe here." Harry did his best to explain this as simply as he could, but it was not easy as Harry had trouble fully understanding it himself. Then a worrying thought came to Harry. "Dobby, do you know how to write?"

"Yes Harry Potter, Dobby writes. Dobby does not write very well but Dobby can write. If Harry Potter helps Dobby, then Dobby can write better."

"That's fine, Dobby, I can help you with that, and it wouldn't be very hard. What do you think, Dobby, would you be my secret keeper?" asked Harry.

Dobby trembled, overcome with emotion, and he could not speak for almost half a minute as he tried to control his sobs of happiness. Finally he could respond, "Harry Potter is great wizard. Only Harry Potter would think to ask a little house elf to be a secret keeper. Dobby feels honored, but Dobby wonders why Harry Potter does not pick a friend, his Weasel friend or his Granger friend."

"I thought about them Dobby, but I think you are the best choice. I trust you, and you have proven that you won't betray me. And nobody will think that I would use a house elf as my secret keeper, especially Voldemort and his death eaters who don't think about house elves for more than two seconds. But I know better, Dobby. I know that house elves are strong and good, but have been mistreated by wizards for centuries. By being my secret keeper, you will be a huge help to me, Dobby, as I have an important task to perform, and I need to be sure that my house is safe."

"Of course Dobby agrees. Dobby is happy to be secret keeper. Thank you, Harry Potter, Dobby will not betray you," Dobby managed to say between sobs. He then began to think, and Harry said nothing as he could see that Dobby had more to express. "Dobby is worried though, Harry Potter. What if Dobby is taken by bad wizards and the bad wizards hurt Dobby. Dobby may say house numbers if Dobby is hurt too badly."

"That is true, but it's the same for wizard secret keepers too. I understand, though," said Harry, " I don't want you to think that you have to be my secret keeper. You should know that it could be dangerous. I won't be mad at you if you say no."

"Harry Potter does not understand. Dobby wants to be secret keeper. Dobby does not care about danger. But Dobby can be secret keeper and not be able to give house numbers to bad wizards, even if bad wizards do bad things to Dobby," Dobby explained.

Harry was not sure where this was going, so he asked, "How can we do that, Dobby?"

Dobby paused and looked unsure of whether he truly wanted to say what he was about to say. "Harry Potter can make Dobby his slave. Then Dobby will not be able to give house numbers, not if Harry Potter orders him not to." Dobby was shaken, but he also stood more firmly than before.

Harry was shocked. "Dobby, I don't want you to be my slave. You are my friend, and you are a great friend. Slavery is a terrible thing. I already have Kreacher as a slave, and I hate it. I would free him if I could, but . . ."

"Dobby knows Harry Potter is a great wizard and does not want a slave. But Dobby knows that what Harry Potter must do is most important. What Harry Potter must do will help house elves too. Dobby thinks Dobby can help Harry Potter, but free house elves do not keep secrets well. Bad wizards can do bad things and make free house elves tell secrets. But slave house elves cannot tell secrets if their master orders them not to tell secrets, even if bad wizards made slave house elf drink the truth potion."

What is going on here, Harry asked himself, running his hand through his hair. This was not what he expected at all, but he had to admit that Dobby had a point. Dobby could get into places that a wizard could not. House elves had their own powerful magic that could be useful to the mission, but clearly Dobby knew that he would not be able to resist if tortured by "bad wizards," or if given veritaserum. Still, the idea of enslaving Dobby was repugnant. He stood up and paced the room deep in thought as Dobby stood nervously, not knowing whether to say anything further or not.

After what seemed like minutes, Harry finally turned to Dobby, "I haven't decided yet, but please answer a couple of questions for me, Dobby. How could I make you my slave if you have already been freed? I thought that house elves were slaves only if they were born into slavery."

"Harry Potter is right, a house elf is only a slave if born a slave. But a free house elf can become a slave if the free house elf agrees." Dobby still moved nervously, and his hands gestured wildly as he spoke. "Dobby thinks that Dobby must help Harry Potter. Dobby can do things that wizards can't. Dobby can go places wizards can't. But Dobby would tell secrets if he is a free house elf, Dobby can't help if bad wizards do bad things. Only a slave house elf cannot tell."

This is a war, Harry reminded himself, not a game. In a war, sometimes drastic measures must be taken. All of the factors caroming inside of Harry's head indicated that Dobby was right. Making Dobby his slave was a smart tactical more in this war, even if it ran against everything Harry believed in.

"OK Dobby, even though I don't want to do it, I can see your point. You are a great house elf, Dobby, to be willing to give up your freedom to help me defeat Voldemort, because that is what I have to do. Before you make your final decision, you should know that this will be extremely dangerous. I will probably die, and if you become my slave, you may die too. I want to be absolutely honest with you, Dobby. Don't agree to become my slave if you can't accept this." Harry's voice was shaking with emotion, and he felt his hands twitching uncontrollably.

"Dobby is not afraid to die. Dobby must help Harry Potter kill the dark wizard. Dark wizard is very very bad. Very bad to wizards and very very bad to house elves. Dobby accepts to be the slave of Harry Potter. Dobby knows that Harry Potter will not do bad things to Dobby." The house elf spoke with a simple dignity that moved Harry deeply.

Before speaking again, Harry considered this one more time. Was this the only way? Was he really justified in enslaving another living creature, even with that creature's consent? With great reservation, Harry decided that he must.

"Dobby, if you still agree, we will do it. I will make you my slave with your consent," Harry spoke gravely. "But I will promise you the following. You will be my slave in name only. In my heart you will always be my friend, not my slave. When I have defeated Voldemort, or when I die in the attempt, I will free you. And if I survive, I will do everything in my power to improve the condition of house elves and the treatment of house elves by wizards."

Dobby was crying freely now and sobbed, "Harry Potter is greatest wizard. Dobby accepts being slave to Harry Potter. Dobby would not accept for any other wizard, but Harry Potter is a great wizard and needs Dobby's help."

"OK Dobby, if we're going to do it, lets do it. But I don't know how to do it, and also I am not seventeen yet and can't do magic without getting in trouble with the ministry. Do we need to wait for my birthday? Its only a few days away."

"Harry Potter does not need a wand. Harry Potter only needs to put his hand on head of Dobby and say 'Dobby I make you my slave.' Since Dobby is a free house elf, nothing happens until Dobby does house elf magic. Harry Potter will feel house elf magic but will not feel pain. Then Dobby will be the slave of Harry Potter," explained Dobby.

"OK. Let's do it then," said Harry, glancing at the fireplace, "Remus will be back soon and I don't want him to know about this. Ready?" Dobby vigorously nodded his head.

Harry placed his right hand on Dobby's head and stated firmly and loudly, for it seemed proper to do so, "Dobby I hereby make you my slave." Dobby immediately waved his right hand in a circular motion and said something in a language Harry did not understand. Dobby stopped moving his hand but continued for several seconds to mutter more elven spells until at last it ended, and Harry suddenly saw a green glow around Dobby and around Harry's right arm. Harry's arm numbed slightly in this green aura, but Harry knew not to move his hand. After ten or fifteen seconds, the numbness subsided and the aura disappeared. Dobby stepped back and removed one of the three hats on his head and dramatically handed it to Harry, and it was over.

There was a lump in Harry's throat as he looked down on his slave; now he had another responsibility, another reason to defeat Voldemort. Dobby said nothing but looked up serenely, and Harry wondered if perhaps Dobby was relieved to be a slave again. It was more "normal" for a house elf; it was what they knew. Harry immediately decided to act to head off certain problems.

"That's done, then, Dobby. Well, I have a few orders I will give you right now. First, you will tell nobody that you are my slave, unless I tell you that you can. This must remain only known to us. Especially, you must not tell Hermione, because if you do she will kill me on the spot. Second, you shall not punish yourself for any reason, even if you think that you have done something wrong. Do you understand," asked Harry gravely. Dobby nodded his little head. "Fine. I know I can't pay you if you are my slave, but I can give you money if I want, so you will accept a "gift" of ten galleons per month from me, and you will take one day off per week to do whatever you want." Harry's conscience felt a little better, but he still did not want Hermione to find out about this. She might be more dangerous than Voldemort.

Harry heard crackling noises from the fireplace, and he knew Remus was returning. "Stay here for a minute, Dobby. We need to talk to Remus."

Remus stepped gracefully from the fireplace in the manner of a pure-blood wizard who has used the floo his entire life. He brushed a few ashes off his shoulders, and asked, "So what have you decided, Harry?"

"I have decided to name Dobby as my secret keeper," said Harry confidently, for he guessed that Remus would not approve of this choice, and Harry wanted to make sure that his mind was made.

"Dobby?" exclaimed Remus, who until that moment had not noticed the presence of the house elf. "Are you sure, Harry? I mean, I've never heard of a house elf secret keeper. Of course, that could be an advantage, couldn't it."

"Exactly," said Harry, pouncing on the opportunity, "Wizards think so little of house elves that they would never believe that any wizard would name one. But I trust Dobby as much as any wizard I know, and I also know that he is extremely talented and resourceful." Harry could see a residue of doubt in the old marauder's eyes, so he continued with his argument, "Dobby knows how to write and can do everything necessary to be a secret keeper. You said that a non-human can be a secret keeper, so there is no reason why I can't name him. I've thought this over, Remus, and my mind is made. Dobby will be my secret keeper."

How could he argue against that, Remus thought. "OK, Harry, I can see your point. It was just a surprise at first. Shall we do it then?"

"Yes, right now if we can," replied Harry, unsure of whether there were any preparations, potions or such involved. You never know in the magical world.

"Good. We can do it now, but it takes a long time, so be patient. It is not an easy spell to perform and requires some preparation, which I already did. We should be done by tomorrow," concluded Remus.

"Wow, by tomorrow?" asked Harry surprised, "Well, let's get started." Over the next several hours, Harry was a part of the most complicated magic he had ever experienced. In fact, a potion was required, three of them, each taken in precise amounts at different times. Harry wondered whether the amount of the potion needed to be reduced for Dobby, given his diminutive size, but Remus assured him that size mattered not. There were more spells than Harry could remember, but fortunately Remus had it all organized. Great care was required, for otherwise they would need to start all over again.

Finally, late in the evening they finished for the moment. They now needed to wait at least ten hours but no more than ten hours and twelve minutes ("How do they know that?" Harry wondered) for the final binding spell to be performed. Remus agreed to sleep at Grimmauld Place that evening so that they could complete the secret keeper spell in the morning.

"Great," exclaimed Dobby, weary of so much wizard magic, "now Dobby has much work to do. Dobby will start in the kitchen." Before either of the wizards could respond, Dobby had disappeared with a pop, not willing to waste the seconds needed to walk.

"Well, Harry, I must admit that I had my doubt about this. But the more I think about it, I think Dobby is a good choice. He really is an extraordinary house elf. I've only seen one like him in my life, but that was years ago," reminisced Remus.

"Really, who was that."

"Oh, her name was Daisy. She was my great aunt's house elf when I was a boy. We were close to my great aunt and saw her often, several times per month. Daisy was amazing. Seemed that she could do anything. House elves truly are powerful creatures. I don't know what would happen if more of them were freed or if they somehow were able to break the enchantment over them. They have a lot to complain about, don't they? I'm not sure wizards could control them if they ever rebelled." Remus was in full thought now, "fortunately for us, their nature prevents them from trying to end the enchantment. If they are treated well, they generally seem to be quite content serving wizards."

"I think you're right," agreed Harry, "The real question, to my mind, is why do so many wizards treat house elves like dirt? Look at how the Malfoys treated Dobby for so many years. Don't they know that they should let sleeping dogs lie?"

The next morning, Harry arose to find a delicious breakfast on the table for Remus and him. "I have to admit, there are a lot of advantages to having a house elf," thought Harry as he enjoyed the best meal he had eaten all summer. At Privet Drive, Harry ate well enough, but he hardly gave food a thought, and he realized that he had forgotten how enjoyable eating can be. Remus also enjoyed the meal, and Harry was sure that he did not have the opportunity to enjoy many like this.

Remus checked his watch often. They needed to be sure not to miss the time window to complete the secret keeper spell, and finally he indicated that the time had come. They climbed the stairs back to the sitting room, though there was no need to. It just seemed like a more suitable room than the kitchen for such a formal act.

"OK Harry, you stand here, and Dobby, you stand there," directed Remus, placing the two about two feet apart. "Harry, place your hand on Dobby and on the sofa. It just has to be any part of the house. The sofa will work. Dobby, place your hand on the sofa too." Remus checked his watch one last time.

With two slashes of his wand and a final incantation, Harry suddenly felt dazed and feared that he would fall. He held on to Dobby and the sofa, however, and after several moments, he regained his balance. For perhaps the first time ever, a house elf was a secret keeper. Despite himself, Harry felt proud.

"Thanks a lot, Remus. I had no idea this was so complicated, but I'm relieved now." said Harry, shaking hands with his former professor. "Now, Dobby, you are not to give out my address to anyone unless I specifically authorize you to. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Harry Potter. Dobby will not say house numbers to anyone."

"Well, I think you can start right now. Go ahead and give the address to Remus. Tell him, 'Harry Potter's house is located at Number 17 Grimmauld Place.'"

Dobby turned towards Remus with severity and repeated the words as best he could, "Harry Potter's house is at Number 17 Grimmauld Place."

"That will do fine," smiled Remus, patting the house elf on his shoulder, "You have done very well."

Dobby bowed slightly to acknowledge the compliment and looked about to break into tears from his excitement and emotion. He smiled at both of them and then popped away again, probably off to the kitchen to wash the dishes.

"Now remember, Harry, nothing is perfect, not even a secret keeper spell. You are probably as safe here as anywhere, but you still have to be careful at all times," admonished Remus, "You know as well as I that a lot of people want you dead. Be careful."

"I will," promised Harry, who helped Remus gather the few belongings he brought and saw him to the floo.

As Remus was about to leave, Harry detained him. "Remus, I've been thinking that I'd like to go to Godric's Hollow. Dumbledore says I should too, that I should do it on my birthday. Do you think you'd be able to take me? I don't know where it is."

Remus' eyes betrayed his surprise, but he smiled anyway, "Sure, Harry, we'll do it the morning of your birthday. I'll warn you though; there's not much left to look at." Harry nodded, and Remus stepped into the flames, twirling out of sight.

"Soon," Harry thought, "I will go to the Burrow. Soon I will see Ginny." He was not sure if he was happy or not, but he certainly knew he was nervous. 


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Remember Me Kindly

Though he had no real reason, Harry stayed at his home a few more days. He wondered why nobody had come by to visit him by the second day, until he realized that only Remus had been given the new address by the secret keeper, and by the nature of the spell, Remus was not able to give the address out to anyone else. In a very real sense, Harry and Dobby were all alone in the world.

A few housekeeping matters needed attention, as Dobby had taken complete charge of No. 17 Grimmauld Place, and from time to time he would pester Harry with questions about various changes the elf wished to make to the mansion. Of course like most teenage boys, Harry was not the least bit interested in where to place the furniture, or whether to change certain window coverings. Despite these interruptions, Harry was able to consider and reconsider all that he had learned over the past several days. He was anxious to start, to check on the museum artifact, to have time to discuss all of this with Hermione and Ron and to develop a plan with them, but Harry could not bring himself to go to the Burrow just yet.

Remus flooed over late in the afternoon of the second day to make sure that Harry was fine. They worried about him, Remus explained, and wanted to make sure he was all right. After assuring Remus that he was just resting and thinking, Remus told him he would let the others know. More importantly, Harry promised that he would floo to the Burrow in two days, right after breakfast. Now he was obligated, and could not put it off longer.

A special concern was the enslavement of Dobby. As Harry understood it, upon his death, Dobby would be distributed as a part of his estate to whomever were his heirs. He had no idea who that might be, but it was imperative that he take steps to ensure Dobby's freedom in the event of Harry's probable death. Thus Harry found some parchment and a quill and sat down in his bedroom to write his will.

_**Last Will and Testament of Harry James Potter**_

_I, Harry James Potter, of sound mind, hereby write my last will and testament. _

After I die, I name my good friend, Hermione Granger, to be the executor of my estate, or if she cannot do it for any reason, then my good friend, Ronald Weasley, or if he cannot do it either, then my good friend, Remus Lupin.

I own two house elves, whose names are Kreacher and Dobby. Although I wish I could free both of them, I cannot free Kreacher for various reasons. Therefore, I give Kreacher to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, to be a part of the house elf staff there.  
For reasons known to Dobby and me, Dobby agreed to become my house elf, as a slave not an employee; however, I do not nor ever have considered Dobby to belong to me or to be a slave. Dobby is a good and trusted friend. Therefore, I hereby free Dobby from his enslavement, and my executor shall give him a piece of my clothing to ensure his freedom. I also give Dobby the sum of 1,000 galleons.

As I do not consider my aunt and uncle and cousin to be relatives, I do not leave any of my money or property to any of them. Instead I want to leave all of my money and property to the people who have loved me and whom I have loved, as follows:

1. I give my Firebolt broom and all of my quidditch equipment to my good friend, Ronald Weasley.

2. I give all of my books, including the library of my house, to my good friend, Hermione Granger.

3. I give my pensieve (which I inherited from Professor Dumbledore) and my invisibility cloak (which belonged to my father) to my good friend, Ginevra Weasley.

4. I give all of my clothing and the sum of 20,000 galleons to my trusted advisor and the last remaining friend of my father, Remus Lupin.

5. I give the sum of 20,000 galleons to Arthur and Molly Weasley, who are the closest people to parents that I have ever known, and who have treated me like a son.

6. I give everything else I own, including my house at No. 17 Grimmauld Place, London, to my best friends, Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Ginevra Weasley, equally, or to whomever of them is living, for them to do with as they see fit.

If I have failed to defeat Lord Voldemort, I apologize to the whole magical world and can only say that I tried my best. To my friends, I thank you for the moments of happiness you brought into my life, and I wish you a life of love and happiness.

Remember me kindly,

Harry James Potter

After reading over the will several times, Harry folded it carefully, placed it inside an envelop which he sealed, and then wrote on the envelop, "Last Will and Testament of Harry James Potter." He imagined what his friends would feel when they read the will after his death, but he soon decided to move his thoughts to other, less emotionally debilitating matters. He placed the will at the bottom of his trunk and later told Dobby where it was and what he was to do in the event of Harry's death. The house elf held back tears but nodded in understanding.

When Harry finally stumbled out of the fireplace at the Burrow two days before his birthday, he was surprised to hear no activity. Generally the Burrow was a bustling place, people coming and going, Mrs. Weasley yelling directions, reprimands or just plain yelling. At first, Harry thought that the house was deserted, but when he stepped towards the stairs to take his belongings upstairs to Ron's room, he heard a voice from the kitchen, "Harry, is that you?"

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley, I've just arrived. Where is everybody?" Harry responded loudly from the living room.

Mrs. Weasley rushed into the room and gave Harry a hug for the ages, which lasted longer than any hug Harry had ever experienced. "Thank Merlin, you are OK. We were worried about you when nobody could go to your house, but Remus explained. I'm so glad you are here now."

"I'm glad too, Mrs. Weasley," said Harry genuinely, then restated his previous question, "Where is everybody?"

"Making preparations for the wedding," explained Mrs. Weasley, "we've decided that the wedding can't be here, its just too dangerous, and really I think Fleur doesn't want it here anyway. They'll be back in a couple of hours." Mrs. Weasley looked kindly at Harry and then motioned towards the sofa, "Sit down, Harry, I wanted a chance to talk with you anyway. Alone."

"Oh no!" Harry thought, she's going to talk about Ginny, and Harry had no idea what he should say. He had not considered this possibility at all, though now that he thought about it, he should have. There was nothing to do but to take a seat and wing it.

Mrs. Weasley sat down as well in the cluttered, comfortable but worn living room and seemed to be considering her words. "I know that Ginny and you were going together during school, that type of news tends to get around quickly, you know. Ginny has been quite depressed since she returned from Hogwarts and hasn't wanted to tell me about it. When I ask her, she just says that the two of you broke up and that she'll get over it, that she just needs some time. I'd just like to know what happened, Harry, and what your intentions are towards Ginny."

Rarely had Harry ever felt more uncomfortable than he felt at that moment, and he hoped against hope that the fireplace would begin sparking and that someone would emerge from the floo to interrupt this conversation. Silence. Harry decided that he needed to respond and instinctively knew that the best path to follow was the truth. "It's true, we were together for a month or two, and it was really nice. I like Ginny a lot and I think that she likes me too. But I had to break it after Professor Dumbledore died," Harry explained, struggling to find the right words to say enough but not too much, "My life will be very complicated now, and dangerous, and I just can't have Ginny being exposed to that. It's hard to explain, Mrs. Weasley."

But Mrs. Weasley seemed to understand perfectly. "It's not my intention to interfere, Harry, and I don't want you to think that I want you with Ginny or not. That has to be between the two of you. But I do want you to know that I will not prevent you from going with her if that is what you want." Mrs. Weasley stopped, and Harry felt that he should say something but could not think of what. Fortunately Mrs. Weasley continued, "I know that you face danger, Harry. I am a member of the Order of the Phoenix, and though I do not know what it is that you have to do, Professor Dumbledore made clear to us that it is of greatest importance, and will be dangerous. To be honest, Harry, I wish I could keep Ginny and all of my children away from danger, but I know that I can't. What I'm trying to say, Harry, is that I will not stand in your way, no matter what you decide to do."

Harry could see that Mrs. Weasley was almost as nervous as he was. She clearly had been thinking about this intensely, and what she said and what she felt were not necessarily one and the same. The mother was extremely worried about her only daughter, and it had to be difficult for her to give her blessing to a relationship that would put that daughter into great peril. Harry chose his words carefully as he responded, "Thank you, Mrs. Weasley, that means a lot to me. Right now I don't think it's a good idea for us to be together like that. I have a lot on my mind right now, and it would just be too much for me. Once I have done what I have to do, then maybe things can be different." Harry meant every word he said, but he wondered what he would feel when he finally saw Ginny again. They had been apart only a month, but it seemed like ages since he had last seen her face.

Unavoidably, Mrs. Weasley's eyes relaxed and despite herself she showed her pleasure that Ginny would not be sucked into whatever it was that Harry had to do. "If that's what you want," she said, "then that is fine by me. Just be careful. None of us wants to lose you."

Diving from hundreds of feet, Harry pointed his Firebolt at a sixty degree angle towards the ground, pulling up some twenty feet above the long grass behind the Burrow. Since the others would not be back until later, Harry had the itch to be back in the air. He was trying his best to remain calm, to conquer his nerves, but knowing that Ginny would be arriving any time was almost more than he could take. Would she be mad at him? She had an explosive temper, Harry knew, and he really did not want to be on the receiving end of it. Even worse, would she want Harry to get back together with her? Would Harry be able to resist that temptation as he repeatedly told himself he must? Maybe he should just go back to Grimmauld Place and avoid the whole affair.

From on high, Harry could note movement inside the house, and soon Ron emerged with his broom in hand, kicking off the ground to join Harry. They bumped fists in greeting and both smiled broadly.

"Brilliant idea, Harry, I haven't flown at all this summer, what with everything going on," Ron said as he zig zagged through the air. The two of them frolicked high above the ground like a couple of carefree teenagers for several minutes before slowing down.

"Is she down there?" asked Harry, the worry returning to his face, "Is she coming out?"

"She's there," replied Ron simply, "but I don't think she is coming out."

"How is she, Ron? Is she mad at me?"  
"Oh, she's mad at you, that's for sure. But don't worry too much, I don't think she's going to hex you or anything," explained Ron in a reassuring voice.

Harry was not reassured. "Do you think I can just fly up here for the next couple of years? Maybe you could bring me some food now and then."

"Come on, Harry, you can't avoid her forever," said Ron reasonably, "You may as well get it over with."

"Right," agreed Harry, "in a few minutes. When is Hermione coming?"

"She's supposed to arrive tomorrow night and will be here until some time after the wedding," said Ron, wondering why Harry asked about Hermione so quickly.

"Good," replied Harry, "we have a lot to talk about. I've found out a lot, and I may know where one of the horcruxes is." Harry had lowered his voice, and Ron and he were no longer flying but merely floating about two hundred feet above the ground. "But I don't want to talk about it until all three of us are together."

With that ominous statement, Harry tipped his Firebolt down and returned to the surface, prepared to meet his fate. Ginny had not come outside or made any effort to greet Harry, and he was not optimistic.

She was in the kitchen with her mother when Harry walked through the side door. Harry was thinking that seeing her would affect him as if she were a veela, but reality was much more mundane. Ginny saw him, smiled a thin smile, and simply said, "Hi Harry."

Harry returned the greeting and they briefly hugged. Confusion. That was all Harry felt. He had no idea what he was feeling, what he should be feeling, what Ginny was feeling. Obviously they needed to talk, but all the points he had prepared for their inevitable meeting were somehow erased from his head. Fortunately there was no opportunity to be alone with her that evening, as the Burrow was full of noise and chaos, just what Harry loved about the place. The twins, Fred and George, had come by to say hello to Harry and stayed for dinner and beyond. They brought with them two shapely witches whose names escaped Harry. Unfortunately they were quite taken by Harry (and his fame) and gave him a lot of, shall we say, attention. Harry stole glances at Ginny from time to time to see if she had any reaction to the flirtatious duo, but if she did, she did not show it. Of greater concern was the reaction of Fred and George to the actions of their current girlfriends, but the twins seemed to be enjoying Harry's discomfort immensely. Bill, Fleur, Mr. Weasley and others all arrived, and by the time Harry and Ron headed upstairs to their beds, there had been no time to talk to Ginny.

This was not at all how Harry envisioned their meeting. They were going to meet all alone, embrace desperately, cry copiously, and dramatically agree that they would have to remain apart until Harry heroically defeated Voldemort and saved the world. That was stupid, of course, and Harry knew it, but his nerves as he slipped into his bed were more on edge than ever. When would he be able to talk to her? The next few days figured to be busy around the Burrow, and Harry began to wonder whether he would be able to talk to her at all. Sleep came difficultly that night.

Fortunately for Harry, the last day before his seventeenth birthday afforded him the opportunity he desired. To his surprise, the day was not especially busy, at least in the morning, and once Mr. Weasley left after breakfast and Mrs. Weasley was occupied with who knows what, Harry, Ron and Ginny were left alone. Normally Ron would have been oblivious to the situation, but this time he knew that he needed to scram, and he muttered an excuse as he left the living room.

Ginny appeared to be in a decent mood, Harry thought, at least she had displayed no overt signs of hostility towards him. They looked at each other, now finally alone. Or almost alone, as Mrs. Weasley was in the kitchen, so Harry decided the first order of business was to eliminate that problem.

"Want to take a walk?" he asked. She nodded.

They walked across the unkept lawn behind the Burrow, and when Harry figured they were far enough away he asked her, "How have you been doing?" Not the greatest line, admittedly, but he had to start somewhere.

"Oh, that's hard to say, I guess. This has not been a very fun summer, if that's what you mean," said Ginny thoughtfully, "Dumbledore dying, then you and me, then having to deal with Phlegm all the time. I've been better to be honest."

Could be better, could be worse, thought Harry, but now he was committed. After agreeing with her about the various difficulties of the summer, he finally got down to business.

"What do you think about the two of us?" he asked nervously, not really knowing what he wanted her to say, "I mean, not being together right now." He almost said "not being together anymore," but that sounded too permanent.

"Well, I'm not happy about it," replied Ginny evenly, though Harry knew there was a great deal of emotion behind that statement, "I just don't understand it more than anything, I mean, your reason for breaking up."

"What do you mean?" asked Harry, though he thought he knew well enough what she meant.

"Protecting me. You said you were doing it to protect me, but that just doesn't make a lot of sense, does it?" Ginny was becoming more upset now, and her previous even temper had obviously required a good deal of self control. "I mean, everybody knew about us at Hogwarts, including every death-eater-wannabe Slytherin. How does breaking up protect me? Do you really think that You Know Who doesn't know about us? Do you really think he cares if we break up?"

Harry was expecting this argument, more or less, and he was almost relieved that he had a response prepared.

"You're right, Ginny, and I know it. That wasn't really why I did it, although maybe I thought it was when I said it. The real reason is harder to explain, and I don't know how you'll take it."

This tack seemed to surprise Ginny, who expected Harry to attempt to justify his decision to protect her. The Harry she knew was pig-headed about such things, and to hear him give up that argument so readily was a bit of a shock. She said nothing as they walked along the edge of the forest, careful not to touch each other.

"There are a lot of things that I have to do now, Ginny, things that I can't talk about." Harry looked at Ginny and could practically read her thoughts. "Yes it has to do with Voldemort, and it's going to be hard, really really hard," Harry said with his voice shaking. All these thoughts that had been bouncing around his mind for weeks were much harder to verbalize than he realized.

"Why can't you tell me about it?" asked Ginny, who then added sarcastically, "Aren't I trustworthy enough for you?"

Harry did not like the tone of her voice, but there was no turning back. "It's not that, Ginny, you know that. But this is not a game, this is a war, and in wars information has to be controlled completely. Only people who must know can be allowed to know, and you are not one of those people," Harry explained, but when seeing Ginny's face slowly redden, he quickly added, "Neither are your parents, or Remus, or hardly anyone. You know I was meeting with Dumbledore before he died for 'special lessons,' well, this is what we were heading for."

"Ron and Hermione know about it, don't they?" snapped Ginny, "Why can't you tell me too."

This was another argument that Harry had anticipated, but he knew that he did not have a convincing response.

"First of all, Ginny, they know some of it but not all. Second, they are of age and can do magic outside of Hogwarts. Third, there are some things they can help me with, but there are a lot of things that I have to do alone. I don't even want them to help, but I can't do it all on my own. It's just too much." Again Harry's voice trembled.

"Of course you can't do it all on your own, so why can't I help too?" asked Ginny, "I went with you to the Department of Mysteries; I've stood by you just like they have."

"Actually, Ginny, I know you won't like this, but I can use your help, because I will need someone I can completely trust inside of Hogwarts because I think Hogwarts may be important in what I ultimately have to do. I would like Hermione and Ron to be there, but I'll need help outside of Hogwarts too, and they're the only ones who can give it to me. I wish I could explain more, but . . ."

"OK Harry, I can accept that, but you still have not explained exactly what your reason was for breaking up, if it wasn't to protect me. I need to know. Please tell me whatever you can," implored Ginny, fighting back tears.

Harry paused, for he feared that Ginny would not respond well to this, but she was right. She needed to know, and she had the right to know.

"The real reason, Ginny, is that you would be a distraction. Right now I have to focus everything I have on what I have to do, and on Voldemort. It's going to be so hard, Ginny, I don't know if I can do it. And if I can't, that means it will all be over," Harry explained.

He paused to see if Ginny understood, and then continued, "If I fail, I'll be dead. And the whole wizarding world will go straight to hell!" The force Harry used to express this last statement was so distinct from the rest of their conversation, that Ginny was briefly frightened and could instinctively understand what Harry meant, and what he was going through, even if she did not know the details.

"Yes, Harry, I thought it was something like that. Look, I am not stupid, and I know that in wars, people have to make sacrifices. So my sacrifice will be to let you go. You are free and I am free. I will help you in any way I can, because defeating You Know Who is more important than our relationship," Ginny spoke clearly though tears were streaming from her eyes. "But understand, Harry, that I don't know if we can just take up where we left off before Dumbledore's funeral. It may not work that way. We may not feel the same about each other, or you might find someone else, or I might. You know what I mean, don't you?" sobbed Ginny, who was finding these words devastating to say. Her real fear, Harry knew, was that this may be the end, even if they did not want it to be. And Harry knew that she was right.

"I know what you mean," said Harry simply, and for the first time they touched, as Harry gently took her into his arms and embraced her. The conversation was over.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Normal I Am Definitely Not

On July 31st, Harry celebrated his birthday by awaking at 6:30 am, quietly dressing and slipping out of the dim bedroom without disturbing his friend. Thinking that all the Weasleys were sleeping, he softly descended the stairs, only to find Molly Weasley wide awake in the kitchen.

Upon seeing her pseudo-son, she smiled lovingly and hugged him while wishing him a happy birthday. "Remus should be arriving soon," she noted, "Have a little breakfast before you leave." Harry's appetite had been healthy since leaving Little Whinging, and he was not about to decline the offer. Promptly at 7:00 am, as previously agreed, Harry walked out the kitchen door to meet Remus on the dirt drive to the side of the Burrow. He only took a few steps when he heard the crack of the werewolf's arrival. After more birthday greetings, Remus grabbed Harry's shoulder, and they were off to Godric's Hollow.

Remus had not been lying. Not much remained of Harry's first home. In fact, other than a few blocks of stone scattered about the patchy grass, no evidence survived that a family ever lived on the site. "This is it?" Harry asked, not able to disguise his disappointment.

"This is it," Remus confirmed, "Maybe someday I'll put a memory into a pensieve for you, but I don't think that may be the best idea yet. The front of the house was over here." The friend of James and Lily Potter pointed some twenty yards to his right, and the pair stepped on the gravel, their feet crunching. "To the right was the kitchen. Your mother always loved it, because it pointed west, and she could enjoy the beautiful sunsets over those hills." Remus turned in that direction, his eyes filled with nostalgia.

Harry turned to look where the older man pointed, and in fact he saw in the early morning light the outline of the low hills. They were covered in wildflowers of yellows and reds, but Harry could barely see them so early in the day. The house had been located in a shallow valley, bordered by hills here and there, with wide openings between them. No other dwellings could be seen nearby, though off to the north, Harry could just see the outlines of a small village.

"Last time I saw the house standing was about a week before it happened," Remus mused as he turned back towards the remnants of the foundation. "I hadn't been here all that often. It wasn't an easy time, and we were all traveling around a lot. Sirius and I came over for dinner, Peter too." He scowled at these last words, knowing that merely a week later, Peter Pettigrew betrayed James and Lily to their deaths, and Harry to the hell that had been his life.

Harry paid little attention to Remus' moods, as he walked though the area where the front door must have been sixteen years earlier. Secretly he had hoped that he might recognize something about this place, a forgotten memory, a flash of his mother holding his hand while he staggered through a flower-strewn garden. But he remembered nothing. No special feeling, no deja vu, nothing. Despite himself, his heart sank in disappointment.  
After kicking through the coarse dirt and grass, Remus quietly walking behind at a suitable distance, Harry asked without turning around, "What happened after they were killed? To the house, I mean."

"It was on fire when Sirius and Dumbledore arrived. Dumbledore put it out, but it was beyond repair. It was left in ruins for a year or two, but death eaters and other Voldemort supporters almost made this a shrine to him. They would come here and leave notes and offerings to him, and they did things to the graves. When Dumbledore was informed of this, he fell into a rage as I have rarely seen. From what I understand, he came here immediately and removed the remnants of the house, and then placed some spells or wards on this area. I have no idea what he did, but it stopped the problem."

"They desecrated my parents' graves?" Harry asked quietly, anger surging though his veins.

"Yes."

"Where are they?"

Remus said nothing but walked to the south, leaving the foundation of the house and continuing on a couple hundred yards to the top of a small rise. There before Harry appeared two simple graves, now covered by a thin carpet of grass. The gravestones, however, were free of weeds, probably Dumbledore's doing. In whatever manner the sites had been desecrated in the past, Dumbledore fixed it, and the graves were almost beautiful now, overlooking Godric's Hollow in all directions. Harry stood before the graves stonefaced, saying nothing. Remus decided to leave the boy to his thoughts and turned back towards the ruins of the house. Harry heard the footsteps crunch on the pebbles.

His mind was a blank, unable to express thought. He merely gazed expressionless at the two graves, allowing the realization to set in that the remains of their bodies lay below his feet. Finally, he looked up at the hills and the valley around him, and he recognized the beauty of his first home. Not a spectacular beauty, but a comfortable beauty. A beauty you can live in.

"It must have been nice," he muttered to himself.

Dumbledore's instructions told Harry that he must lay his hands on the graves. Frankly he felt foolish, but he knew that the old man had his reasons. Slowly he bent a knee to the grass, and then the other, resting himself on his ankles. Simultaneously, he place his right hand on his mother's grave and the left on his father's. He felt nervous. As his hands touched the grass, he almost recoiled, expecting a shock or pain of some sort. Instead, he felt a warm sensation, quite pleasant. In fact, as he pressed his palms flush to the ground, a wonderful tingling infused his body, almost like stepping into a tub of water just the right temperature. He allowed himself to relax, and the tingling became a warm buzz throughout his body, a most wonderful sensation.

The minutes passed, and he did not move, thoroughly enjoying himself. His mind was functioning again, and he pondered for some time this sensation. It was familiar somehow. Finally it dawned on him. Felix Felicis. The good-luck potion. The feeling running though his muscles and bones was not exactly that, but it was similar. As he continued to sit there, he felt that all things were possible, defeating Voldemort actually was within the realm of possibility. "I am a man, now," he thought, and he felt powerful, more powerful than ever before.

Remus had rested on one of the remaining stones of the house's foundation, gazing up at his friends' only child. Harry meditated up there for a good half an hour, virtually motionless. Debating whether he should go up to the graves, he decided against it. This was something between Harry and his parents. Finally Harry ambled back towards the older man, a look of contentment on his face.

"All right, Harry?"

"Just fine, Remus. I'm glad I came." Harry took one last look at the site of the house and its environs. "Let's go."

The days following the conversation with Ginny and the visit to Godric's Hollow passed pleasantly enough. Hermione arrived the afternoon of his birthday, instead of the previous evening as originally planned, and Harry could not help but enjoy the company of the three people who meant most to him in the world. As soon as a thought would emerge that this may be the last time the four of them could be together like this, he repressed it. Ginny and he seemed to come to an understanding, and they carefully avoided being with each other alone. They dared not tempt fate. Moreover, the aftereffects of communing with his parents' graves had improved his mood noticeably. Yet when asked about it, he merely stated that he visited the graves. What happened was between him and his parents, and he felt no need to tell anyone about it.

Harry's seventeenth birthday was suitably celebrated, with cake, singing, gifts and much laughter. He was anxious to have a strategy meeting, as he had come to call it, with Ron and Hermione, but they all agreed that this should wait until after the celebrations had concluded. Hermione was going to stay another two days after the wedding and then was to return to her home one last time before returning to Hogwarts. So far she had told noone of her intention not to return.

The day after his birthday, Harry had made arrangements with Mr. Weasley to obtain his apparation license at the Ministry. This worried Harry, as he had not had an opportunity to practice since he side-along apparated Dumbledore from Voldemort's cave more than a month earlier. Fortunately Mr. Weasley told him that he could practice apparating around the Burrow, as the Ministry did not bother monitoring such minor incidents. Thus Harry spent much of his birthday disappearing and reappearing all around the Burrow, and by the end of the day, he was quite confident that he would pass the test. This in fact was the case, as Harry easily completed all elements required to obtain his license.  
The visit to the Ministry did have one revealing aspect to it. Harry was reminded of his celebrity in the magical world. Virtually everyone recognized him. While most wizards and witches respected his privacy, many, especially many young witches, squealed and giggled upon seeing him. While Harry was slowly becoming accustomed to his fame, he realized that his notoriety could be a hazard when he started horcrux hunting in earnest. How was he to get anywhere if he would be hounded by adolescent witches wherever he traveled?

Bill and Fleur's wedding fascinated Harry, who had never attended a wedding of any kind before, muggle or magical. From what he knew of muggle weddings, this one was similar - vows, rings, music, flowers. Ginny was extremely beautiful as one of Fleur's bridesmaids, and Harry tried to avoid looking at her. Of course this was difficult when the dancing started, but despite a bit of discomfort, Harry had a wonderful time dancing with Ginny, Hermione, Mrs. Weasley, Fleur, the flirtatious girlfriends of Fred and George, and Fleur's sister. This is how life should be! This is what Harry had to fight for.

Now the time had come. Everything Harry had been waiting for was over - leaving the Dursleys, securing Grimmauld Place, his birthday and the wedding. Now he had to decide upon a plan of action and get started. Ron, Hermione and Harry met in Ron's bedroom. Ginny probably knew they were there, but she knew not to crash the meeting. Harry, freed from the restrictions against underage magic, placed a silencing charm on the room so as not to be overheard, and the discussions began.

Harry told them all that he knew. Soon they focused on the first task at hand, determining whether the museum artifact was in fact Hufflepuff's cup and a horcrux. Hermione knew a bit about the museum, as her school class had taken a field trip there when she was young, but she had no detailed knowledge. The museum was open to the public, however, so the obvious course of action was to visit the museum, just as hundreds did every day.

"What I don't understand, Harry, is how we can destroy the horcrux if we find it. Tell us again what Dumbledore did?" asked Ron exhaustedly. They had been at it for hours, and he was tired and hungry.

"He just put it on," replied Harry, who was not feeling the least bit tired, "then he said he used "pure magical power."

"But what it that?" pondered Ron, "and how do we know if we have enough of it?"

Often times Hermione would jump in to answer questions such as these, but this time she also turned towards Harry inquisitively.

"I have it," said Harry simply, "I have enough of it." He thought back to sitting between the graves of his parents.

Ron and Hermione quietly gasped, as this was out of character for Harry. Their friend was not a braggart; in fact, he was almost always excessively humble. To hear him state matter-of-factly that he had enough magical power to destroy a horcrux created by a supremely powerful dark lord astonished them.

"Not that I doubt you, Harry, but how do you know?" asked Hermione carefully, not wanting to provoke Harry.

"I know because I did it. I have destroyed a horcrux - Riddle's diary," Harry explained, "I didn't understand it at the time, but when I stabbed it, I didn't destroy it with the basilisk's fang, I destroyed it from inside of me. I wanted it destroyed, and I made it happen. That is magical power, Ron. I had it then, and I have more of it now."

Hermione was processing this information and compared the destruction of the diary with the destruction of Slytherin's ring.

"But Harry, why did the horcrux injure Dumbledore's arm but the diary didn't do anything to you?"

"I've thought about that a lot, and I have a theory. Of course I could be wrong, but it comes down to one of two or three possibilities." Harry stood up to pace slowly across the room, dodging Ron's knees as he walked by. "Either I am more powerful than Dumbledore, or there is something in me that protects me from the horcrux. I tend to think the latter is more likely than the former. The other possibility is that the horcruxes themselves were somehow different."

Ron's lips gradually formed a smile as he absorbed this information, "That's wicked, Harry!" Harry, however, did not smile. Hermione understood what Harry was truly saying, and her face was lined in worry.

Carefully choosing her words, she said, "So what you mean is that maybe the horcrux can't harm you because of your scar, because of what happened when you were a baby."

For years Harry had known of his special connection with Voldemort caused by the reflected killing curse some fifteen years earlier. Dumbledore and he had discussed it on several occasions, but recently a further possibility had occurred to him. In fact, Harry considered it a probability. This was important. Ron and Hermione needed to know what they were getting into.

Pulling up a chair, Harry motioned Ron and Hermione to move closer, as if he was worried that someone might overhear (despite the silencing charm). His friends sat expectantly, but Harry found it hard to put into words the ideas he had been thinking for more than a week.

Finally he mouthed the frightening words, "I am Lord Voldemort. He is inside of me. I am Lord Voldemort and I am Harry Potter." Harry's voice was little more than a whisper. He pointed to his forehead and continued, "This scar didn't just give me some of his powers, the ability to speak Parseltongue, a connection with him. No, there is something more than that, I know it now. I can feel it." The next words were especially hard to utter, "I think it's a piece of his soul."  
Ron's mouth fell open. Hermione's mouth stayed tightly closed, however, and her mind furiously processed this information.

She reached out for Harry's hand and trembling asked the obvious question, "You think you are a horcrux?"

"No, I am not a horcrux, at least not a true horcrux," opined Harry, who was relieved that at least one of his friends was able to discuss this with him. This had weighed on Harry for days now, and the more he thought about it, the more he was sure he was correct. He could feel it. "There is a specific procedure you must follow exactly to create a true horcrux, and Voldemort never had the chance to do that. But something happened. Voldemort had just committed two murders, so the necessary circumstances were in place to create a horcrux, and he may have intended to create one, which is also a necessary element. When the avada kedavra backfired, I think a piece of Voldemort's soul entered mine. That may be why Riddle's diary did not harm me, though I'm not sure about that."

Harry gazed nervously at his best friends, wondering if this shocking information would create a wedge between them, whether they would no longer trust him. Hermione, as she so often did, seemed to read Harry's mind. She stood, grabbed Harry's hand and helped him stand as well.

"Listen to me, Harry Potter, I believe in you. If Voldemort has a piece of his soul in you, well that's too bad for him, isn't it. You've had it inside of you your entire life, and I don't know a single person with more good inside of him. I'm not afraid of you," she exclaimed, and as if to prove it embraced Harry in a Mrs. Weasley style hug, "and I never will be. We'll deal with this like we have everything else." Ron approached Harry and Hermione too, and they welcomed him into their embrace.

"That's right, Harry," he added, "I know you better than anyone, and I know if anyone is not evil, it's you. I've seen you have fun, act silly, goof off in the dorm room. You're normal, Harry, a normal person."

"Normal I am definitely not!" thought Harry to himself, but he so deeply appreciated the support of his best friends, he could not say anything.

"So," said Hermione in her business-like voice, "what are we going to do about the museum?"

Ron and Harry took the floo to the home of Jeremiah and Elizabeth Wright, a magical couple that lived not far from the home of Hermione's parents. When Hermione had to leave the Burrow to return home, she pleaded with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley to allow Ron and Harry to visit her at her home, as her two friends had never properly met her parents, and she wanted to show them around. Mr. Weasley enthusiastically supported the idea, and it was all he could do to refrain from asking to come along. His wife, however, was a worrywart by nature, and it took a good deal of persuasion before she relented.  
Hermione told her parents that Ron and Harry were coming over because they wanted her to take them to a real muggle museum. She related the sad story of Harry's childhood, which needed no embellishment given the horrid treatment he received at the hands of his aunt and uncle. Of course, Ron was a pure-blood wizard, she explained, and had virtually no contact with the muggle world. This would be a great experience for both of them, and Hermione acted the part of a giggly teenage girl admirably. Her mother clearly thought that Hermione liked one of the boys, and Hermione did nothing to dissuade that notion.

Her two friends were unable to apparate as they had never been anywhere close to Hermione's home and could not picture anyplace to arrive. Mr. Weasley found that the closest wizarding family to Hermione was the Wrights, and he contacted them. They gladly allowed use of their floo, especially when Mr. Weasley threw out the name Harry Potter. The Wrights were an elderly couple, more or less in their seventies by muggle reckoning, though Harry knew that they could be twice that age in the magical world. They effusively greeted Harry and Ron and insisted that they sit down for a cup of tea while they waited for Hermione and her mother to drive by for them.

Harry instantly took a liking to the elderly couple, who had a sharp sense of humor, and did not mind poking fun at Harry. They even joked about his scar, which Harry thought was wonderful. Yes they were pleased as punched to meet a "celebrity," but Harry appreciated being treated as a normal teenage boy should be treated by an older couple, and the two boys genuinely enjoyed themselves. After half an hour had passed, the sound of wheels on the gravel drive could be heard, and soon there was a knock on the door. Though only a couple of days had passed since she left the Burrow, Hermione squeezed the stuffing out of each of the boys, who were slightly embarrassed at the public show of affection. Embarrassed but not displeased.

As the Wrights' home was closer to the museum than was the Granger residence, Mrs. Granger took the three friends directly to their destination. Allowing them four hours to roam the halls, Mrs. Granger left them, and finally the three could stop acting, though in reality the act had not been difficult and was rather enjoyable. They shared a good laugh.

Harry was the first to come to the business at hand, asking Hermione, "Were you able to find out anything on the internet?"

"A little bit," replied Hermione, "I'll tell you inside." They paid the small admission fee and soon found a bench. Taking proper precautions, Harry and Ron stood close to Hermione to shield her from view while she gracefully waved her wand to the incantation of "Muffliato." She no longer bothered harping on the Half Blood Prince, and at the least seemed to acknowledge the usefulness of that spell.

They sat on a bench in one of the side halls of the museum. This was not an especially impressive museum, not world renown, not home to any world class traveling exhibitions, and without any particular theme. One hall had a hodgepodge of paintings, sculptures and other artwork, while another dealt with natural history - bones, fossils and the like. Ron was quite fascinated by it all and wished that he could pay more attention, but the three were excited and focused as they began the first of what promised to be many adventures.

"Well, the best way to put it is that the cup is a minor artifact in a minor museum. There was very little I could find about it." Hermione stated matter-of-factly. All I could find on the museum's website was a listing of all of the items here, but only the more important ones are pictured and described. I'm hoping that there will be some explanation of the cup in here, especially since it had a little notoriety according to Dumbledore."

The three friends roamed the halls of the museum trying to blend in, but they were frantically trying to locate the cup as quickly as possible to allow them time to study it. At first they had no luck, but turning a corner from a room of medieval armor, which reminded them all of Hogwarts, Harry felt a tingling in his scar. He skidded to a stop. The last time he had felt anything in his scar was Voldemort's aborted possession of Harry at the Ministry atrium. Could Voldemort be at the museum? Harry quickly rejected that thought, as his scar would not just be tingling in that event. It had to be the effect of the horcrux.

"I think it's in here guys," said Harry, trying not to show the nerves he felt inside, "I can feel something in my scar."

The three entered an alcove of sundry medieval artifacts - weapons, chain mail, clothing. Suddenly Ron hissed, "I found it." Harry and Hermione lost all sense of propriety and rushed over to Ron's side. Harry's scar tingled more intensely, almost to the point of being painful. This had to be a horcrux; why else would his scar be affected?

The cup itself was nothing to write home about, and Harry was surprised that Tom Riddle would have used such a nondescript item as a horcrux. But of course, it belonged to Hufflepuff, one of Hogwart's founders. The cup was set back away from where they stood, in a locked cabinet which stood some six feet behind a thick red cord keeping the crowds at a distance.

"Just like Dumbledore wrote. It was set back from the public because some people felt sick just walking by it," Harry whispered excitedly. He remembered the need for security, however, and again whispered, "Look, we need to do the spell in case anyone comes in."

No complaints came from Hermione this time, and hiding behind the larger boys, she once again performed the Muffliato spell to ensure that they would not be overheard. "It's definitely Hufflepuff's cup, Harry, you can just see the etched badger on the left side of it. Look," she pointed at a short paragraph posted next to the cup in large bold type so that it could be read at a distance. The three silently read the description of the artifact. 

**MEDIEVAL SILVER CUP**

****

LITTLE IS KNOWN ABOUT THIS UNUSUAL CUP WHICH IS QUITE DISTINCT FROM OTHER CUPS OF THE SAME ERA, APPROXIMATELY 1,000 YEARS AGO. THE DEPICTION OF A BADGER IS BELIEVED TO BE UNIQUE IN MEDIEVAL ARTIFACTS. THIS CUP HAS A LEGEND TO IT, AS IT IS SAID THAT IT BRINGS PAIN TO ANYONE WHO TOUCHES IT, AND SOME PEOPLE COMPLAINED IN THE PAST OF HEADACHES AND NAUSEA WHEN NEAR TO THE CUP. BRIEF STUDIES IN FACT CONFIRMED THE COMPLAINTS OF SICKNESS, BUT NO CAUSE COULD BE DETERMINED. SCIENTISTS SUSPECT THAT THE CUP MAY CONTAIN HAZARDOUS CHEMICALS WHICH AFFECT CERTAIN SENSITIVE PEOPLE ADVERSELY. SINCE REMOVED FROM CLOSE CONTACT WITH OUR PATRONS, NO FURTHER COMPLAINTS HAVE BEEN RECEIVED. THE ORIGINS OF THE CUP REMAIN A MYSTERY.

"I don't believe it," Harry exclaimed smiling, "we really found a horcrux."

Hermione was all business, however, "Yes we have. Now lets look at this room carefully. I can see no reason why we can't apparate directly into this room after the museum is closed. There shouldn't be any anti-apparation wards here."

They studied the room and committed it to memory, then stared at the horcrux intently. "There will probably be some protections around it, although how it got to a muggle museum is beyond me," Harry wondered. "Dumbledore always said that Voldemort underestimates muggles, and maybe whatever protections he put around it only affected wizards and witches, not muggles."

"That's very possible, as there are certain diseases that wizards can catch which have no effect on muggles, Wizard's Pox, for example. Anyway, it does not seem to have any terrible effect on muggles. They feel pain if they touch it and some people felt sick when near it, but nobody died or was seriously injured," said Hermione while examining the cup as closely as she could from the distance. All three of them wanted to jump the cord, open the cabinet, grab the cup and get out of there, but they knew this would be folly.

"Let's go outside and decide what we're going to do," suggested Hermione.

Harry bought them all drinks, and they sat outside at a table in the small café attached to the museum. Again, Hermione discreetly said "Muffliato," and the few people in their vicinity seemed not to notice that they were there. Nevertheless, they spoke softly.

"How should we take it?" asked Ron, "It shouldn't be too hard. Just apparate in, now that we've seen the room, take the cup, and apparate right back out again. We can do the whole thing in about two minutes."

"No," said Harry, "We can't take it. We want the cup to remain here. I'm positive that Voldemort knows that it is here. He probably thinks it's well hidden, that no wizard or witch will ever find it. I mean, its just referred to as a medieval cup, no mention of Hufflepuff or anything like that. If we didn't know what we were looking for, we never would have given that cup a second look." Harry paused for a second to get back on track. "The point is, we don't want Voldemort to know that the horcrux is destroyed. I need to do whatever I need to do and then we put it back exactly like it was before."

"Harry's right," agreed Hermione, "but Ron is also right that we should be able to apparate right in. We need to make a plan."

The three conspirators detailed the plan over the next half hour, and each of them recited it back to the others. Tonight they would act.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Messy, but Got the Job Done

Ron and Harry slipped out of the Burrow at 1:00 am and stalked down the road leading away from the property until they were sure they could apparate without being heard. They nodded at each other and with a crack disappeared.

They had agreed to meet Hermione under a tree in a secluded part of the parking lot to the museum, so that they could be all together before attempting to apparate into the museum itself. When Harry and Ron reappeared, only a few feet from their destination, they quickly checked themselves to be sure they did not leave an eyebrow or ear behind. Half a minute later, Hermione arrived with a crack and rushed over to the other two. All were dressed in dark clothing.

"Let's go over this one last time," instructed Harry quietly, "As soon as we apparate into the room, Ron will check the door to see if any guards are around. Hermione will use the silencio charm. Then we'll check out the cabinet to see if there are any wards or protections.

Hermione and Ron nodded. Both were extremely nervous, but Harry was strangely calm, almost relieved, to be taking action at last.

"Ready?" asked Harry, "Good. On the count of three."

Crack. The sound of apparation reverberated through the dark and silent museum. Surely any security guard would have heard it. Ron immediately edged to the side of the door to see if anyone was coming and saw the flickering of a flashlight down the hall, coming towards them. 

"Someone's coming," he whispered.

Hermione was about to say, "Silencio," but Harry stopped her, pulling out his invisibility cloak. Without a word, he motioned the other two to get under the cloak. Given their size, this was easier said than done, but they crouched down by the floor and huddled together. They could feel their hearts pumping and their warm moist breath, as the guard, who had heard the crack and was investigating, stepped into the room and shone his light all around. He did not linger however, probably because nothing of special value resided in this small alcove. If someone intended to burgle the museum, they would be after the valuable artifacts. In a few moments the guard satisfied himself and continued down the hall.

The burglars remained under the cloak for another minute until Harry finally instructed Ron, "Check the entry again." Ron silently stepped to the opening and looked both ways. He turned and gave the thumbs up.

"Do the spell," he ordered Hermione, who emerged from the cloak and said, "Silencio" in a quiet but firm voice. They now could not be heard, but they continued to whisper regardless. Harry and Hermione slipped under the thick red cord and carefully approached the cabinet holding the cup. They paused for a moment. This just seemed too easy, thought Harry, compared to the horrors he saw in the cave with Dumbledore - swimming the cold ocean waters, blood sacrifices, forcing Dumbledore to drink that infernal potion, and of course the inferi.

"Should we open it," asked Hermione, implicitly recognizing Harry as their general and Ron and she as soldiers.

Harry shook his head, "Wait. Let me try something." Slowly Harry raised his hands and brushed them across the dark walnut cabinet, just as Dumbledore ran his hands along the wall of the cave. The young wizard had no idea what he was trying to feel, but he concentrated on feeling magic in his hand. He felt nothing until his hands crossed in front of the horcrux, and then he felt plenty. First his fingers, then his hands, then his arms felt numb, similar to the tingling in his scar but distinct as well. Definitely magical energy of some sort, but Harry had no idea how to "read" the energy like the headmaster could. He rapidly moved his hands away from the spot, and they returned to normal. The good news was that he felt no other "magical energy" in the rest of the cabinet. Apparently it was just a plain muggle cabinet, not magically enhanced in any way. His hand reached to turn the latch to open the walnut-bordered glass door encasing Hufflepuff's cup. The door was locked.

"Open it, please," said Harry in a monotone, now completely focused on the object in front of him. Hermione opened her mouth to say something, but after noting Harry's demeanor, she closed it again.

"Alohomora," she intoned, and they heard the lock click open. Hermione bit her lower lip.

Taking a deep breath, Harry opened the door, moving back a step to let it pass in front of him, then stepping back to the opening. "Is anyone coming, Ron?" he asked.

"No. Nothing at all"

Harry carefully reached both hands towards the cup, expecting something to happen. There had to be some kind of ward around the cup, some kind of protection. This was too easy. "Be careful, Harry!" sputtered Hermione involuntarily. She was shaking with fear as to what could happen to her best friend. Danger is never real until it hits you in the face.

Nothing impeded his hands, so Harry did the obvious; he wrapped his hands gently around the bowl of the cup. Nothing happened, except that his hands and arms became numb, just the magical energy, Harry decided instinctively. He knew the numbness was not a ward. It would not harm him.

Gradually the cup emerged from the cabinet, and Hermione backed up two steps to keep out of the way. One of the points of the plan required that neither Ron nor Hermione touch Harry or the horcrux. "Now what?" thought Harry.  
He tried to concentrate on the horcrux, tried to feel the partial soul, tried to engage it in battle, but he felt only the uncomfortable but bearable numbness. Harry's mind worked furiously, comparing this horcrux to the diary and the ring. What is the connection? What is the common element?

Suddenly it dawned on him. He had to use the object in the manner intended. The ring had to be put on a finger. The diary had to be opened and read. Harry needed to drink from the cup.

A wave of panic caused his body to shudder as he remembered the fate of Dumbledore when he drank the poisoned potion. Pain. This was going to be painful. But to engage in battle, he needed to drink.

"Harry," Hermione cried desperately, "let's try to kill it with magic. Maybe there is some way, some spell. . . ."

"No, Hermione, only power, pure magical power, and lots of it," Harry whispered in a semi-trance. Not wanting to remove either hand from the cup to reach his wand, Harry turned to the shaken Hermione and instructed, "Fill the cup with water, please."

"What? You're going to drink from it? Oh Harry, there must be another way," argued Hermione.

"There is no other way. I'm ready to kill it. WATER!" Harry ordered and thrust the horcrux closer to her. 

Reluctantly and with shaking wand, Hermione said, "Aguamenti." Pure cold water poured from the end of her wand into the cup, which held about two cupfuls. She looked at Ron, who watched the scene in numb silence.

"I have to drink it all," Harry muttered to himself, though Hermione and Ron both heard him. He remembered Dumbledore's instructions to him in the cave, but he did not give any orders to Hermione or Ron. Inexorably the cup moved closer to his lips, and suddenly a tremendous urge to drink the water came over him. The horcrux was challenging him to battle. Hermione gasped as Harry downed the water in one huge gulp. She stopped breathing and waited.

Fire went down Harry's throat, down the esophagus, and into the stomach. In a matter of seconds, his insides turned into a cauldron of molten lava. Pain beyond description. Harry wanted to scream, but his vocal chords did not function. His body began to tremble, then shake, and then convulse uncontrollably. The Boy Who Lived fell to the cold marble floor writhing in pain, his eyes sealed shut, sweat pouring from his pores.

"HARRY!" cried Hermione, who violated one of the most important points of their plan. She touched him. An electric jolt exploded through her body, throwing her backward five feet unconscious on the floor.

"Hermione!" yelled Ron who rushed to her side but knew better than to touch her. Sometimes pure-blooded wizards had better instincts in these matters. Purity of blood, however, did nothing to quell the pure panic in his brain. The powerful one was thrashing about on the floor; the brilliant one was lying unconscious on the floor, and now what was he supposed to do.

Ron rushed back to the door to make sure the guards had not returned to the area when his heart dropped. Light from two flashlights illuminated the hall to the right of him, some fifty yards away, coming towards him. He cursed. "Think, Ron, think!" Seeing the invisibility cloak, he flung it over Hermione, but he saw no way to hide Harry. The room was dark and the silencing charm meant that the guards could not hear them. Maybe, Ron hoped, the guards would just walk by the nondescript alcove without checking it. Time stopped as the guards advanced towards him.

"That was a weird crack we 'eard, wasn' it." commented a tall portly guard to his companion, a shorter, thinner and darker man, perhaps middle eastern in origin.

"Sounded like a car backfiring, but there are no cars around here," said the shorter guard in a mild accent. He must have been an immigrant who had lived in England for many years, for his command of the language was excellent.

Ron held his breath as they were passing by the opening to the alcove. He nearly jumped for joy as they passed out of view when he heard the immigrant say, "Wait, I thought I saw something in there."

"Oh no!" thought Ron as he pointed his wand trying to decide what to do. Give Ron Weasley ten minutes to ponder a chess move, and he can be brilliant, but ask him to make a decision under pressure, and . . . . Later he would think of all of the options he had. He could have confunded the guards, making them turn away for no reason. He could have caused a noise back down the hall as a diversion. He could have levitated Hermione out of view and then tried to hold the invisibility cloak in front of Harry and himself. But he did none of those things. Instead he waited as the guard entered the alcove and pointed his flashlight right at Harry, who remained oblivious to his presence.

"What's going on here!" shouted the shorter guard fearfully, for he had never encountered a burglar in the museum before.

"Stupefy" yelled Ron, and the guard crumpled to the floor.

The corpulent guard was shocked as he saw his coworker fall to the floor for no apparent reason, as he had heard nothing. The guard pulled his gun confidently, in the manner of a former military man. Someone had to be in there, probably hiding behind the wall next to the opening, which in fact was where Ron was standing, his back pressed to the wall. Despite his considerable size, the guard moved quickly and gracefully. He jumped into the room and crouched, hearing the word "stupefy" and a jet of light flash over his head.

Though shocked, he pointed his gun at Ron and yelled, "Stop or I'll shoot. Get your hands above your head."  
Ron knew enough about the muggle world to recognize a revolver, and he slowly lifted his hands. In the dark the guard could not see Ron's wand, and without warning, Ron turned and disappeared with a crack. The guard froze, not believing his eyes. The last thing he heard was the word "stupefy", and he remembered no more. Ron had apparated behind him and stunned him.

"Breathe," Ron told himself, and he gasped air. He went back to the alcove's opening and checked to be sure that there were no other guards. Surveying the scene in front of him, he commented to himself, "Messy, but got the job done."

"Accio cloak," said Ron pointing his wand at the area where Hermione was lying, and the invisibility cloak whooshed into his hands. Ron then directed his attention back at Harry. He muttered, "Lumos," and pointed the light from his wand at his friend. Harry appeared to be in a deep trance, unconscious but not exactly unconscious, and he still gripped Hufflepuff's cup fiercely. Something was functioning inside of him, but Ron could not even hazard a guess. In any event, Harry no longer seemed to be in pain, and that had to be a good sign. There was nothing he could do for his best mate, so he moved to Hermione's side, flicking his wand, "Ennervate." Hermione began to stir.

"What happened?" she asked, as she felt all of the muscles in her body ache.

"You touched him." She shook her head in disgust. 

"I wasn't supposed to do that. I saw Harry in so much pain, and I forgot."

"Understandable."

"How is he now?" asked Hermione as she edged closer, but not too close to Harry. She rubbed her temples to ease a terrible headache.

"No way to know," replied Ron, "At least he isn't flopping around like a fish out of water any more."

Hermione frowned at Ron's flippant analogy. Harry could be dying for all they knew. She looked away from him and for the first time noticed the two security guards on the marble floor by the entry to the alcove.

"What happened?"

"Stunned them. I was hoping they would walk by but the thin one came in and saw us," explained Ron, "I had no choice. The fat one jumped in with his, what do you call it, firearm pointed at me." He pointed to the barrel of the revolver sticking out from under the guard's shoulder.

"He could have killed you," realized Hermione with a shudder.

"Tell me about it," retorted Ron, "I had to apparate behind him because he ducked under my first stunner. Thought I was a goner for a second. Fortunately he didn't shoot right away, just told me to put my hands up."

Hermione sighed, "Well, nothing we can do now but wait. We'll modify their memories before we leave."

"You mean 'you'll modify their memories' because I can't do it," Ron reminded her. They sat down with their backs against the wall and waited for their motionless friend to finish his battle.

The initial fiery fury of the lava inside Harry slowly subsided, and for the first time he could sense the horcrux inside of him. He could feel it spreading, attempting to take him over, to control him, to make his body the mere shell for the partial soul. Harry began to panick. He could feel it happening but could do nothing to stop it. "Concentrate!" he yelled at himself, and he tried to pinpoint the horcrux to attack it.

After minutes of intense struggle, where Harry unknowingly was flailing on the museum tile, he found something. "Power," he told himself, "You have the power. Use it!" The horcrux no longer spread through his body; instead it now directed itself to Harry's center. His soul. The horcrux wanted his soul. "You can't have it!" cried Harry, and he focused all of his magical energy to that spot, and the battle began in earnest.

Harry could now hear a "voice," not a true voice but some means of communication. The horcrux informed him that it needed his soul, that it would make him greater than he could ever dream.

"You will be feared and respected by all, witches and wizards alike. I can show you true power. Power to control others. Power to defeat all rivals."

"I already have power," Harry taunted the partial soul, "I have already defeated you. You cannot control me. You are no match for me."

"Yes, I can feel your power, but you are young. But a boy still. You are still foolish and naive. Understand what I can do for you, what we can do together! We can be great."

"I know who you are, Tom Riddle. I know what you have done. I know what you have become." Harry informed the horcrux, "You are no longer human. You have become grotesque. Why should I desire your power? I have all that I need to be happy."

"Happiness does not exist," the horcrux scoffed, "Only power exists. Only power matters. Come to your senses boy, for one way or the other I will occupy your soul, and Lord Voldemort will come alive again! If you choose to resist, then I will destroy you. But if you cooperate, together we can be great."

"Do you not know me?" cried Harry, "I am Harry Potter, the boy who lived, the boy that you have failed to kill five times, the boy you fear above all others. I have the power to destroy you, and I give you no options. You must die."

"Pity," responded the horcrux insultingly, "You have chosen."

"Yes, I have chosen, and I am the Chosen One."

During the course of this conversation, Harry unconsciously gained his bearings; he developed a feel for the horcrux. He felt that he was able to amass his power in a huge ball of electricity and direct it where he wished. As he ended the conversation, he threw the ball of power directly at the horcrux.

The horcrux was powerful however, and absorbed the attack. Nevertheless, Harry felt that damage had been done, and his energy pounced on the invader. In a moment he felt himself completely entwined with it, like two wrestlers on the mat. Harry was reminded of his duel between the brother wands, a duel of pure power and desire.

At first, Harry felt himself surge, and he was sure that the horcrux would be crushed at any moment. He could feel its desperation, but like a cornered animal, the horcrux counterattacked, and Harry did all he could to hold on. He felt himself slipping off a cliff. Pushing back, the combatants reached a level of equality. Harry had a moment to assess his situation, and it was not good. He felt weak and unsure whether he could withstand another push. There was no energy to fight back now; he was merely hanging on, waiting to be finished off.

Faces flashed by his mind's eye, Mrs. Weasley's, and Hagrid's. Then Dumbledore's face, looking sadly disappointed.

"I have failed," he thought, "Where is all that power I'm supposed to have, Professor?"

"It's inside you, Harry," said Dumbledore's voice, "it's love. Remember all those who love you and all whom you love. That is where true power lies."

"Love," Harry thought. Who did he love above all others? The face of Ginny appeared, then Ron's, then Hermione's. Harry felt a surge inside of him.

"Listen to me, Harry Potter. I believe in you!" Harry heard the voice of Hermione from just a few days before.

"I cannot fail," he urged himself, just as he felt the horcrux renew the battle. So much time had passed that Harry felt that the horcrux itself must be badly damaged; otherwise, it would have attacked before. The new attack did not have the same ferocity as the others. The horcrux was a wounded animal, and Harry had to finish it off.

Ron and Hermione sat in almost complete silence watching Harry for over an hour. His body would be deathly still for extended periods of time, almost lifeless except for his chest expanding ever so slightly as he breathed. From time to time he tensed and spasmed for a couple of minutes before returning to stillness.

"You can do it, Harry!" muttered Hermione under his breath, "You have to do it! We are lost without you."

"He's got enough pressure as it is, Hermione. Don't add to it," said Ron with a hint of irritation. He was tired of everyone expecting the world from Harry. Harry may be the Chosen One, but to Ron, he was just Harry.

They lapsed into silence again, and Hermione illuminated her watch to check on the time - 3:15 am. What would they do if Harry did not snap out of it?

But within moments of that thought, Harry's body convulsed again, and he levitated inches off the floor for five or ten seconds, then thumped back to the ground. The cup was still gripped tightly in his hands, until after several more spasms, his body relaxed completely. He unclinched his hands, and Hufflepuff's cup rolled off his chest and onto the floor with a clunk.

The two friends could not breathe. Was he dead? Clearly the battle was over, but the victor was not yet declared. Hermione crawled the ten feet to Harry, but was afraid to touch him. Instead she waved her hand over the cup. Nothing. The cup emitted no energy at all, and she knew that Voldemort's partial soul was no longer there. It was either dead or inside of Harry. Or perhaps it and Harry both died.

She waved her hand over Harry's head and chest, but again felt nothing. Gathering her courage, as Ron looked on in rapt attention, she touched Harry's cheek with her hand, caressing the cheek when she discovered that she had not been electrocuted again. Harry moved his head slightly to the caress.

"He's alive," she cried with a smile.

Ron heaved a huge sigh of relief but then decided that action was necessary.

"Where can we take him? He won't wake up for a while by the look of it. We need to get out of here. It's getting late."

"To the Burrow," decided Hermione, "We can apparate outside your house from here and then levitate him to his bed. It's not even 3:30 yet, so everyone will be asleep. You can tell everyone that he was feeling ill and wanted to get some extra sleep. Hopefully he'll wake up before too long."

And so the soldiers went to work. Ron awakened the two guards, after which Hermione immediately obliviated their memories and then confunded them so that they walked off in a daze.  
"Where were we going, Ahmed? I forgot." they heard as the guards walked away.

They picked a spot to arrive at the Burrow not far from the house. Hermione had never side-along apparated before, but as she was a better apparator than Ron, she lifted Harry's arm, turned and was gone. After replacing the cup in its spot and returning the alcove to its previous condition, Ron followed. In a few minutes, they had Harry in his bed. Hermione looked at him with worry etched on her face, and she caressed Harry's cheek one more time.

She gave Ron a hug as she made her way out.

"Owl me tomorrow. I want to know how he's doing."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

You're Not as Dumb as You Look

Harry did not wake up. Not that morning, that evening, nor that day after. Ron's initial explanation worked for a few hours, but soon Mrs. Weasley sensed that there was more to the story. She eyed Ron suspiciously when at two in the afternoon Harry still had not awakened, and Ron helplessly followed behind her as she climbed the stairs.

Mrs. Weasley was not a healer, but she was a mother of seven children. After feeling Harry's forehead, she waved her wand over him performing some basic diagnostic spells, and then glared angrily at her son.

"What happened, Ron?"

Ron knew he could not tell her the truth, but he also knew that he could never come up with a story to cover for them.

Finally he gathered his courage and said, "I can't tell you."

"What do you mean you can't tell me," shouted his enraged mother, hands on her hips, "Something is very wrong with Harry, and you can't tell me what happened? I want to know right now." In the past, a Mrs. Weasley explosion of this nature would have forced Ron to tell her anything, but Ron had anticipated that this moment was arriving.

"I'm sorry, mum, but I can't tell you. All I can say is that Harry has to do some extremely important things that Dumbledore left for him. I can't say any more than that."

"Oh yes you can and yes you will!" hissed his mother, "Come with me."

Over the next hour Mrs. Weasley, and after she had summoned him, Mr. Weasley, alternately threatened and cajoled Ron in an attempt to learn what had happened, but for the first time ever, Ron would not budge under the pressure.

They did learn that Hermione was also involved - no surprise there - and were relieved that Ginny was not. Ron sent Hedwig to Hermione to have her come to the Burrow so that she could be interrogated as well. Mr. Weasley also summoned Remus Lupin on behalf of the Order of the Phoenix.

When Hermione arrived, she knew there were problems, so she made no pretense at ignorance or manners.

Stepping through the door, she immediately informed the parties present, "I'm going to check on Harry. We can talk later." Five minutes later, Hermione descended the stairs to the silent sitting room of the Burrow to face the dour expressions of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Remus Lupin, as well as the sympathetic face of Ron.

Taking control of the situation, Hermione quickly moved to a threadbare chair and stated, "The most important thing right now is Harry's well-being. He is unconscious but seems to be breathing easily. He would very much not like to be taken to St. Mungo's, but we should have him examined. I think we should contact Madam Pomfrey. She can come and tell us how serious it is, and then if necessary we can either take him to St. Mungo's or to Hogwarts." She took a deep breath as her audience absorbed her words. Mrs. Weasley opened her mouth to speak, but Hermione raised her hand in warning.

"I know that you want to know what Harry, Ron and I did last night, but as I am sure Ron has been explaining, we cannot tell you," she explained evenly but stressing the word "cannot." "I can only tell you the following," she continued, "Last year, Professor Dumbledore from time to time gave Harry 'special lessons.' In these lessons, Professor Dumbledore provided Harry with very important information, and Dumbledore strictly instructed Harry to keep the information secret, except that he was allowed to inform Ron and me of some of it."

"But Dumbledore is dead," argued Remus, "Everything is different now."

"Dumbledore wrote a letter shortly before his death which was given to Harry by Professor McGonagall about two weeks ago." Hermione clearly was prepared for the argument. "Dumbledore again charged Harry with the task. The information is extremely sensitive, and Dumbledore stressed to Harry that nobody else should know. Harry made us promise that we would not reveal that information. We will NOT break that promise." There was finality to Hermione's words.

"But look at Harry, " pleaded Mrs. Weasley, "Look where your escapade got him. He could die."

"What Harry has to do, as Professor Dumbledore knew better than anyone, will be dangerous," countered Hermione, "but it has to be done. Ron and I know the danger. Harry would prefer that we not help him, but we won't let him, and he knows that he needs us."

"He needs us too," responded Mr. Weasley, "the Order has resources that the three of you know nothing about. If you tell us, we can cooperate and make greater progress against You Know Who. We defeat ourselves if we each act independently."

This was a strong argument, and Hermione knew it. While she considered her counter argument, she was surprised to hear Ron jump in.

"The Order cannot help with what Harry has to do. That is why Dumbledore never consulted the Order about it. The Order needs to keep doing what it's doing, and we need to keep doing what we are doing. It's like a two-pronged attack in chess. You can defend a single attack easily, but if you can be defeated from two different directions, or more, it becomes much harder."

"You're not as dumb as you look," Hermione thought to herself with a smile, for she had never heard Ron say anything so intelligent.  
Instantly the smile left her face, and she pleaded with a sense of urgency, "Look, we're just wasting time. Harry needs to be checked by Madam Pomfrey right away. Someone needs to go to Hogwarts to fetch her here."

The validity of these words were clear to all, and Remus arose from his seat, "I'll do it. We can't floo there, so I'll apparate to the front gate and then find her. We should be back in thirty or forty minutes if I can find her right away." He strode quickly out the door, and they heard a crack.

"We'll talk about this later," concluded Mrs. Weasley dejectedly. Ron and Hermione climbed back up the stairs before she might change her mind. Opening the door, they saw Ginny standing impassively by Harry's bed, gazing at his face. She was not touching him or tending to him, just watching him while deep in thought. After a moment she emerged from her stupor and greeted Hermione with the briefest of hugs; then she left the room without a word.

"What's up with her?" asked Ron reasonably.

"Don't even try to understand, Ronald." snapped Hermione, not in the best of moods, "Can't you see that this has been an extremely difficult time for Ginny."

"Sure, I know. I'm the one who's had to deal with her all summer." Ron retorted indignantly, "but she looked so strange just now. Like she didn't care. Weird!"

"It was a little odd," admitted Hermione, but she promptly pushed the matter out of her mind, as she sat next to Harry and felt his forehead.

"Other than the fact that he is unconscious," declared Madam Pomfrey in frustration, "he appears to be just fine. His breathing is regular, his pulse is strong, I can detect no internal injuries, brain activity is normal. Without any information as to how he came into this condition, I don't know what more I can do. All attempts to revive him were unsuccessful. Obviously there is something powerful involved here."

Madam Pomfrey was upset that Ron and Hermione would not inform her of the cause of Harry's injury, even when she promised on her oath as a healer never to divulge the information.

"Does he need to be moved, Madam Pomfrey," asked Hermione, ignoring the implicit request for additional data.

"No, that does not appear necessary. He can rest here just as well as at St. Mungo's or Hogwarts." concluded the healer. "I'll send some nutritional potions to give to him if he fails to wake by tomorrow. Molly knows how to administer them."

Molly Weasley nodded her head and left the room to show Madam Pomfrey out, leaving Hermione, Ron and Ginny alone with Harry. Again, Ginny had said nothing and revealed no emotion. "Are you alright, Ginny?" asked Hermione with concern.

"This is the way it's going to be, isn't it." Ginny accused them, "Harry and you guys are going to go around doing Merlin knows what, and then Harry comes back like this." Her face was impassive, but her voice was not.

"I'm really sorry, Ginny," pleaded Hermione. She liked Ginny tremendously and wanted to stay on good terms with her. "But please understand. Harry doesn't WANT to do this, he HAS to do it."

"Right, it's always Harry, isn't it." Ginny spat derisively, "Just do whatever you have to do." And with that she gone.

"You're right, Hermione, I'm not even going to try to understand that one." Ron opined, "Looks like she's gone off the deep end."

Hermione did not say anything, but sat down and wondered.

Three days passed with no change in Harry's condition. He appeared to be perfectly healthy except for the small detail of being unconscious. Mrs. Weasley, Ron and Hermione, who came by every day for a few hours, tended to him, making sure the necessary potions were injected into him. Beyond that, they waited. Ginny checked on Harry occasionally, but only for brief visits.

On the third day, Ron was sitting on his bed reading the Daily Prophet when Hermione arrived just after lunch.

"No change," Ron informed her, anticipating her question.

"What do you think happened to him, Ron?" asked Hermione pensively, "I really thought he would have come out of it by now. I mean, he's fine except he won't wake up."

"I dunno," replied Ron, "How does anyone know what happens when you kill a horcrux. Not like it happens every day."

"He was in so much pain when he first drank the water. I think that was the horcrux's way of weakening him." guessed Hermione.

"You saw that better than I did, but it was scary. I thought we might lose him right there."

"He thinks he's going to die, you know," Hermione whispered painfully, "We've got to do everything we can to keep him alive." She moved closer to Ron and spoke so softly that Ron could hardly hear, "I think he's almost suicidal."  
"No, he's not suicidal," responded Ron after considering it for a moment, "but he's single-minded, completely focused. He's not even interested in Ginny any more."

"I know. I wonder what happened between them. Ginny hasn't been herself," murmured Hermione.

Hermione had seated herself next to Ron on his bed, her back leaning against the wall and her left arm leaning against Ron's right. Ron felt nervous at the touch of Hermione's skin and finally worked up the nerve to ask her what he had been wanting to ask for weeks.

"Hermione, what do you think about what we talked about after Dumbledore's funeral."

After the funeral, Harry and Ginny had left to be alone together, and Ron and Hermione stayed seated, Ron's arm wrapped around Hermione in an act of comfort, her head on his shoulder.

They watched Harry and Ginny when Ron said, "Do you think we should be a couple, Hermione? You know that I like you, even though I act like a prat half the time." The emotion of the funeral allowed Ron to say things that he had never been able before.

"I've been stupid, too, Ron. Maybe we will be. I'm not sure now is the time. We're going home for the summer. We're not going to see each other for a while. And we're all in shock because of Dumbledore." Despite the words, Hermione snuggled closer to Ron.

"You're right, but maybe in seventh year. Maybe we could try." Ron managed to say, his heart beating loudly.

"We have to think about Harry too. I think he's breaking up with Ginny right now." Hermione flicked a finger in their direction. "Harry's going to go after the horcruxes and then after Voldemort. We have to help him. That has to be our priority."

"Right! We'll do whatever we have to do," avowed Ron with finality.

Back on Ron's bed, Hermione considered Ron's question while gazing at her fallen friend.

"I don't know, Ron. There's really no way we could be together now, not in that way. If we were normal seventh years at Hogwarts, only worried about tomorrow's exam and the next Hogsmeade visit, maybe we could. But we have to focus on Harry now. If he dies. . . ." Hermione couldn't finish the sentence, choking back tears.

"Do you love him, Hermione." asked Ron, releasing his fear.

"Of course I love him, Ron, but I'm not sure how. I could say the same about you," Hermione responded deep in thought. "He's a great wizard, you know. If he can survive this ordeal, he'll be as great as Dumbledore in his own way. Somehow I knew it the first time I saw him on the Hogwart's Express."

There was nothing more to say, and the two friends leaned against each other for support.

Harry's final attack on the horcrux succeeded. He could sense the anguish of the partial soul as Harry's magic surrounded and crushed it. The horcrux was dead; somehow Harry knew it, though there was no single moment of triumph, no knife to the heart where the enemy staggers in shock, falls to his knees, and then crumbles dead to the ground. Harry felt no triumph; he was beyond exhaustion and felt nothing, except a vague feeling that something was different. Not better or worse, just different. With that thought he lapsed into a coma.

Later, though Harry had no idea how much time had elapsed, he regained a level of awareness inside his coma. He felt no sense of panic or worry. Eventually he would awake, he was positive, but he was in no hurry. His soul needed to repair itself, for the damage done by the horcrux was severe.

"How do you repair a soul," Harry wondered, deciding that all you can do is wait. Certainly there is no potion or spell for it.

Though his caretakers could not know it, after the first day or two, he was able to sense their presence and hear their conversations. He heard Madam Pomfrey's diagnosis, Ginny's sharp words, and Ron and Hermione's intimate conversation. But none of it mattered to him at the moment, though he was aware that it would when he awakened. Instead, Harry's semiconscious thoughts focused entirely on himself, his strenghts, his weaknesses, his failings. He focused on the mistakes he had made in his life - thinking Snape was trying to kill him in first year; too late to the Chamber of Secrets; letting Wormtail escape; Cedric; Sirius, Dumbledore.

Yet his internal musings did not depress him as he seemed completely detached from his emotions. He was seeking an answer, but he did not yet know the question. In a sense, Harry was almost enjoying himself, as if he was on a vacation of sorts. He was in absolutely no hurry to wake up.

Six days passed since the destruction of the horcrux, and Harry's thoughts focused, as he was aware that he would regain consciousness soon. His soul had been repaired, though whether it was stronger or weaker than before perplexed him. Of one thing he was sure: Destroying the horcrux changed him. He felt he understood himself better, accepted his shortcomings more easily, and had acquired an inner peace that he had never enjoyed. But the answer to the question did not come, nor did he determine what the question was. Something was still missing, but he could delay no longer.

"Time to wake up, Harry."

With that thought he fell into a deep sleep for several hours, after which he awoke refreshed, as if from an especially fine night of sleep in a particularly comfortable bed. His body did not ache, his thoughts were clear, and his spirit was high. Opening his eyes, he saw nothing, only darkness.

"Am I blind," he wondered, but in a moment his eyes adjusted to the dim light in the room. Obviously it was the middle of the night, and Harry could hear Ron's quiet snoring across the room. Harry took inventory of himself and determined his most important need - food! He was famished and felt he could eat a hippogriff. Not wanting to wake Ron, he slipped out of bed and down the stairs to the kitchen, where he found some ham, bread and cheese. He ate three huge sandwiches in the next hour, which finally eased his hunger.

Not wanting to return to the bed he had occupied for nearly a week, Harry quietly stepped to the sitting room and grabbed a Daily Prophet from the scratched coffee table. He sunk into the most comfortable chair in the room holding the daily, but he did not open it. Suddenly everything came back to him. The battle with the horcrux and his philosophical musings while in the coma. It was all so strange. While in the coma his thoughts seemed to make sense, but now awake, he was not sure what to make of them.

Remembering the conversations he sensed while in the coma, he thought about Ginny, and worry reentered his mind. Ginny was mad at him, he realized, not just on the surface, but deep down. Was this something that could be repaired? Was it something he wanted to repair? Did it really make any difference if he was going to be killed in the end anyway?

With that last thought, Harry heard the sound of footsteps treading lightly on the stairs, and in the early morning light he caught a glimpse of the garish purple robe of Mrs. Weasley descending to start breakfast. Harry prepared himself.

Molly Weasley had not slept well for months now, and Harry's condition contributed to her insomnia. In the past she had been a sound sleeper, but waking at five in the morning was routine for her now. Upon reaching the landing at the bottom of the stairs, she turned right towards the kitchen when something to her left caught her eye.

"HARRY!" she screamed as she saw him sitting in Arthur's favorite chair. Harry stood for the inevitable bonecrushing, and he was not disappointed, as Molly broke into loud sobs as she embraced him for what seemed to be a full minute. Harry could not make out the words Molly managed to utter between sobs, but he understood "so worried," "beside myself," and "are you OK?"

When Molly Weasley screams, everyone wakes up, and sure enough within the next minutes, Ginny, Ron and Arthur all rushed down the stairs and smiled broadly. Even Ginny seemed pleased at his recovery, though Harry could not help but notice the perfunctory embrace he received from her. Mrs. Weasley assumed Harry was hungry and moved to rush to the kitchen when Harry informed her of his consumption of three large sandwiches.

Ron ran upstairs to find Hedwig and scribbled a note to Hermione. She would arrive soon he was sure. Downstairs, nobody dared ask Harry yet about what happened. For the moment they would all be satisfied to feel elation and relief at Harry's recovery.

Within an hour, Hermione rushed through the door. She was quite a sight, for Hedwig must have awakened her. Apparently she had thrown on some muggle clothes and not even bothered to brush her hair, which reminded Harry of a female Albert Einstein.

"Harry," she yelled and rushed to him. Their embrace lasted a full minute, Harry was sure, though he was not complaining. He could not help but notice the narrowed eyes of Ginny and Ron watching him, and finally he gently placed his hands on Hermione's shoulders to move her a foot away, giving her a broad smile.

"Its good to be back!" Harry said to nobody in particular.

Madam Pomfrey had been summoned to examine Harry and pronounced him fit. Later in the day, Remus Lupin, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Tonks arrived at the Burrow, and Harry realized that the expected interrogation was about to begin. After what he had been through, however, he was not nervous.

Everyone congregated in the sitting room, which was filled to overflowing. At the last minute, Fred arrived too, leaving George to run the store. Fred greeted Harry with an impish smile, as if saying that whatever mischief Harry had done, the twin approved. Harry, Ron and Hermione were directed to the faded couch against the wall next to the stairs, and the others found chairs, or in Lupin's case conjured one with a flick of his wand.

Molly looked at Ginny and was about to tell her to go upstairs when Harry intervened, "She can stay. I want her to hear what I have to say." Molly was taken aback, but Arthur nodded his head. Ginny gave one nod of appreciation to Harry and squeezed into a chair between the sofa and the stairwell.

Kingsley began, "We need to know what. . ."

"No you do not!" interrupted Harry with a certain anger in his voice, surprising himself and the others in the room. "I can not and will not explain myself. There are a few matters that you do need to know, however." All eyes were on him and no one thought to interrupt, much as if Dumbledore had been speaking. "What I have to do, with Ron and Hermione's help, has been explained to me in great detail by Professor Dumbledore. He gave me a number of special lessons last term which included a great deal of secret information. Dumbledore made extremely clear to me the importance of keeping this information secret, for that reason he did not tell anyone in the Order of the Phoenix. I know that this will be hard to accept, but what we are doing has nothing to do with the Order."

Harry paused briefly to choose his next words, and he saw a gamut of expressions. Mrs. Weasley showed worried anger while Mr. Weasley's face was creased in deep thought. Remus' face was inscrutable, but Kingsley clearly was upset. Tonks and Fred both showed a touch of smugness, as if enjoying Harry's performance. Ginny and Hermione could not hide expressions of admiration of Harry's control of the situation. Ron's face expressed support for his friend.

"Before last year, we wanted to be a part of the Order to fight against Voldemort, but I now know that joining the Order would be the worst decision we could make. The Order must regroup and continue the fight, but we will not be a part of it. We must follow the path that has been set for us. The Order can be of tremendous assistance to us by taking the fight to Voldemort, making him deal with losses of death eaters and such. What we have to do must remain as secret as possible. At the moment Voldemort has no idea what Dumbledore started and what we are continuing, and he doesn't know of some of our successes. It must remain that way or everything that we are fighting for will be lost!" Harry finished with a passion in his voice he rarely displayed.

The members of the Order were momentarily speechless, until Remus spoke for them, "OK, Harry, I for one am willing to trust you. I cannot say that I agree with your course of action, but I will do nothing to stop you. Just promise me one thing," Remus said while raising the index finger of his right hand, "Don't be afraid to include the Order if it would be helpful to you. Don't exclude us just because you can."

Harry's respect for his father's last living friend was enormous, and he quickly nodded his head.

"All right, Remus, I'll promise you that." The members of the Order seemed slightly mollified, and Kingsley still appeared to be unconvinced, but they all knew that there was no hope in convincing Harry to clue them in on his activities. The Order would have to go its own way.

"There is one more thing I need to tell you," said Harry, whose face suddenly bore an icy expression, "Dumbledore wrote a letter to me before he died. Most of the letter must remain between him and me, but there one very important matter. I'm still not sure I believe it," Harry continued shaking his head in disgust, "but Dumbledore stated as strongly as he could that Snape is not a traitor."

Remus jumped to his feet. Kingsley looked like he wanted to punch Harry. Molly and Arthur looked confused, as if they were sure they did not hear Harry correctly. Even Fred's naturally mischievous smile turned to a sneer.

"You can't be serious!" Remus finally snorted.

"I told you I'm not sure I believe it, but that is what Dumbledore wrote. He said no matter how it appears, no matter how Snape may be involved in his death, Snape is not a death eater." Harry could not blame the others for their looks of disbelief. "Look," he continued, "I'm only telling you this so that if you happen to capture Snape you don't kill him on the spot."

The others grudgingly accepted Harry's reasoning, but the news about Snape put a damper on what had started as a wonderful day. The Order members agreed that a new meeting must be arranged before going their separate ways. Ginny, who had been overtly supportive of Harry during his monologue, returned to her standoffish attitude and left the sitting room without a word.

"Dobby," Harry called, "please come here." Two seconds later the tell-tale pop announced Dobby's presence. Harry would never learn how house elves could come whenever and wherever requested.

"Harry Potter, sir. Dobby heard you call. How can Dobby help Harry Potter?"

Ron and Hermione were surprised to hear Harry call for Dobby, for Harry had not mentioned anything about his house elf friend. They both greeted Dobby warmly who returned their kindness with a typically goofy elfish smile.

"Thank you for coming, Dobby. " Harry said, as he hopped on his bed in Ron's room, where they had sought refuge after the attempted interrogation. He turned to his friends and informed them, "I haven't had a chance to tell you guys, but I have made Dobby the secret keeper to my house."

The two comrades were stunned for a moment until Hermione grinned and opined, "That's a brilliant idea, Harry. I didn't know a house elf could be a secret keeper. Nobody will ever think that you would name Dobby."

"Exactly what I thought, plus the fact that I trust Dobby as much as I trust you two." Dobby was embarrassed at the kind words. Harry continued, "Dobby, please give my address to Ron and Hermione. I authorize you to do so."

Dobby threw out his minuscule chest with pride as he was about to perform his first duty as secret keeper. He wrote down the address on two scraps of parchment (he had practiced writing it to make sure he had it right) and handed one to each.

"You must burn the papers when you are done," Dobby instructed them, as Harry had previously instructed him. Harry smiled at Dobby and thanked him, and Dobby returned to Grimmauld Place.

"I'm going to my house now," Harry said as he started placing his few belonging in his travel bag. "Right now, only Remus and you two are able to go there, and for the time being I'm going to keep it that way. We need to have another meeting, but I'd rather have it there than here."

Hermione needed to return to her parents as well, so they agreed that they would meet for lunch the next day. Over Mrs. Weasley's protests and Ginny's irritated stare, Harry left the Burrow for No. 17 Grimmauld Place. He had no intention of returning to the Burrow anytime soon.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Scarier than Aragog

Dobby prepared a delicious lunch for Harry and his friends, and for a few moments, they forgot their burdens and enjoyed each other's company. Ron and Hermione took turns making fun of the other, and Harry joined in their laughter.

"You should have seen your hair yesterday," mocked Ron, "it barely fit through the door. You need to warn us if you're going to show up like that so early in the morning. Scarier than Aragog, that was."

On another day, Hermione might have been offended, but she was so happy and relieved at Harry's recovery that nothing could dampen her bright mood. 

"Well obviously you didn't take a look at yourself, Mr. Weasley," she counterattacked, "Your hair was sticking out in twenty different directions. It was almost as bad as Harry's is all the time."

"Hey, how did I get involved in this," yelled Harry in feigned anger, and all three of them laughed until they had stitches in their sides. What Dobby thought of teen-age wizards and witches we can only guess.

After consuming an enormous quantity of delicious cookies baked by the house elf, the mood returned to earth, and Harry sighed, "Let's get started." The three reluctantly exited the kitchen and made their way to the sitting room.

Dobby had spruced up the room nicely, rearranging the furniture in a more intimate way closer to the fireplace, and the three friends all nodded their heads in appreciation.

"I have to say," commented Hermione, "that if Dobby were my house elf, I would have a hard time freeing him. Is there anything he can't do?" Harry did his best not to change his expression.

Since the house belonged to Harry, the large, comfortable overstuffed chair was left for him, and Hermione and Ron sat on another chair and sofa respectively. They looked at Harry, who was leaning back in his chair looking at the ceiling., not knowing where to begin.

Sensing his indecision, Hermione spoke first, "What happened, Harry? When you were fighting the horcrux. You can't believe how scared we were after you drank the water."

"I can't really explain it," Harry mused, not taking his eyes off the ceiling. "At first it was like drinking lava, my insides were boiling." He shuddered and leaned forward in his chair, but he still was not focusing his eyes on anything. "Then I felt the power of the horcrux searching for something, I think my soul, and then it concentrated itself right here," Harry explained, pointing to the area just below the ribs but above the stomach. "Finally I was able to concentrate on it, and then it talked to me."

"It talked to you?" Ron asked. Both Hermione and he were astonished.

"Communicate would be a better word; it didn't really talk in a voice, but I knew what it was saying. It tried to tempt me with power, that we could be great if I let it merge with my soul, that one way or the other it was going to defeat me. I kind of taunted it, said I had plenty of power and didn't want any more. It didn't really get mad at me, just said I had chosen."

Hermione and Ron sat in rapt attention but Harry was looking through them. 

"I felt like I could kill it easily, that I had plenty of power. Kind of like a wrestling match where I was the stronger wrestler, but I just couldn't finish the other guy off. I didn't know what move to use or what strategy to take. It was exhausting, but I knew the horcrux was suffering too. We each had to back off for a minute to regroup, and I heard Professor Dumbledore say that my power was love. Somehow I thought about all the things I loved, and I knew I had one last attack in me. I told myself I couldn't fail, but I knew that if I didn't finish the horcrux off that time, it would be over. The horcrux would have taken over my soul. I would have become another Voldemort."

Not a sound was heard in the sitting room, nor did Ron and Hermione move a muscle. Harry was just pausing and would continue in a minute, so they would do nothing to interrupt his train of thought. The young wizard was staring at a portrait on the opposite wall of some long deceased ancestor of Sirius, but he did not actually see it. Finally his eyes refocused, and he glanced at his friends. He stood up and moved next to the fireplace as if to warm himself, even though the day was warm and no fire had been lit.

"My final attack worked. I could feel that the horcrux was no more. It didn't really die; it just didn't exist any more." Harry shook his head, "It's something you can't explain, I just knew it happened. Dumbledore said the same thing in his notebook. Now I know what he meant. Once I knew it was over, I was so drained, I blacked out. Somehow you guys got me back. What did you do?"

Ron and Hermione alternately informed Harry of their actions, and Harry nodded in approval.

Eventually they described what happened during Harry's coma, with Hermione commenting to Harry, "It was weird. Every day Madam Pomfrey came and said you were just fine except that you wouldn't wake up. Do you remember anything?"

"Actually I remember quite a lot. I don't know how long I was completely out, but for the last few days at least, I was aware that I was in a coma, I could sometimes hear people talking in the room, but I just couldn't wake up. In fact, I knew that I shouldn't wake up, so I didn't even try." Harry had returned to his comfortable chair which was so large that it made him look even thinner than he already was. "My body was fine, but my soul needed repair; that's all I can figure." Harry left it at that. He did not want to tell them that he felt something was different, something was not whole. The horcrux had been destroyed but not without cost.

The mood in the sitting room had sunk into a joint depression, and Harry realized it was time to lighten up.

"All in all, I would say it was a great success!" he concluded, "We killed a horcrux with a minimum of damage. We didn't get caught by the Ministry; we have the Order off our backs for the time being; and we have a better idea of what we are dealing with. I'm very satisfied."

"But you could have been terribly hurt, Harry, or even killed," Hermione countered, "We need to be more careful next time."

"Well, we can be more careful about some things. That is true," Harry agreed, "but as far as me being hurt, I have already told you that what we have to do will be extremely dangerous. It's not going to get easier, Hermione. Also, the horcrux will not kill me, at least not intentionally, because I think it would die too. It needs to take over my soul. That is the real danger. It could turn me."

"You would never turn to the dark," scoffed Ron, "I don't care what the horcrux does to you." Hermione nodded her agreement.

Harry shook his head vigorously. "You guys don't understand. If the horcrux would have won, the soul inside of me would be Voldemort's, not mine. Can't you see how dangerous that would be. Everyone says I'm so powerful, well, Voldemort's soul would control my power."

The others could see that Harry was shaken by this thought. He held his head in his hands, elbows on his knees, deep in thought. Finally he straightened his back and decisively said, "If that happens, you guys have to kill me. Do you understand? It won't be me, it will be Voldemort in my body. You'll HAVE to kill me!"

"I don't know if I could do that, Harry," whispered Hermione honestly, shocked from the turn of this conversation. Ron sat in a daze and said nothing.

Harry looked at them, assessing his two best friends, and then said with great confidence, "You will if you have to. I know you can. Let's just hope it doesn't come to that!"

Over the next several days, Ron and Hermione came to No. 17 Grimmauld Place at designated times to discuss their next steps. After Harry's outburst at their first "meeting," their later get-togethers were not as joyous and full of laughter as their first lunch. Harry felt badly that he had spoiled things for everyone, but he believed that what he said was true and necessary.  
Their discussions first established the status of the horcruxes, so far as known:

Riddle's diary - destroyed by Harry  
Slytherin's ring - destroyed by Dumbledore  
Hufflepuff's cup - destroyed by Harry  
Slytherin's locket - unknown if destroyed by R.A.B.  
Nagini - unsure if it is horcrux or not. Dumbledore thought so.  
Unknown sixth horcrux - cannot be sure a sixth was created but Dumbledore  
believed it was, and Harry agreed based on the memory of Riddle's  
conversation with Slughorn.  
Voldemort - last part of his soul is in his body.

In Harry's mind, an addition to this list had to be made: Harry himself. He believed more than ever that a piece of Voldemort's soul existed inside of him, even if not a horcrux. This was a wild card, as its effect was unknown and unknowable.

What should they do next? They were fortunate to have had Dumbledore's notes to lead them to the cup, but now they were on their own. The only piece of hard evidence in their possession was the note left by "R.A.B." in the cave with the fake locket. They surmised that they should be able to determine the identity of R.A.B., who once was a death eater and presumably was now deceased.

They tried to think of all of the names of death eaters that they knew - Nott, Avery, Malfoy, LeStrange, but they knew only a fraction of all of the followers of Voldemort, especially if you included the deceased with the living. It was Hermione who realized that they were overlooking the most obvious candidate.

"Harry! Didn't Sirius say that he had a brother? His name would be Black."

"How could I be so stupid," Harry chastised himself, "Of course he did. His name was Regulus, so that would be two of the three initials. I don't know what his middle name was though. I remember Sirius, or maybe it was Remus, telling me that Regulus became a death eater and supported Voldemort at first, but then he tried to back out when he realized what was expected of him."

"Well," Ron summarized, "that fits in pretty well with the note. Regulus Black has to be our number one suspect."

"Who would know Regulus' middle name," asked Hermione, "Maybe we could ask Remus."

"This was the Black house," Harry reminded them, "Maybe there is something in the house that would tell us." Harry preferred not to consult Remus if possible.

And so a major search of the house ensued, but it appeared that Sirius had removed virtually everything that had to do with the family Black from the house. The few times they encountered Regulus' name, no middle name was included.  
After several fruitless hours, Harry realized how stupid he was being. "Wait a minute. I know who knows the middle name, and he has to tell me, even though he won't want to." The other two looked at Harry perplexedly until they heard Harry call, "KREACHER!"

In a pop the house elf had arrived, more pathetic than ever. He was crouched even lower than before, as if permanently bowing to his master. His hair was matted and dirty, and quite noticeably he smelled. Stunk would be a better description.

"Master called Kreacher," he crooned unctuously.

"Kreacher, I need to know the middle name of Regulus Black," asked Harry directly, not desiring to spend any more time with his slave than necessary..

"Master Regulus was a fine master," responded Kreacher, "my mistress was so proud of him. Not a blood traitor like the other son. Kreacher will not help his new master; he will not tell him the name, no he won't." Kreacher was half speaking to Harry and half to himself, as was his habit. Harry could not help but pity the creature, though he still harbored a great deal of hatred for the elf whose lie directly led to the death of Harry's godfather, Sirius Black.

"Kreacher, I am not asking you, I am ordering you to tell me. What was the middle name of Regulus Black," Harry's voice rose in volume.

Kreacher briefly tried to resist the direct order, but having been a house elf for many decades, he knew that the enchantment would prevent his refusal. 

"My mistress named her beloved son Regulus Apollo Black, who was a true pure blood wizard. Stayed true to his blood, not a blood traitor like master and his red haired friend. Bringing a mudblood into mistress' house."

"KREACHER," Harry yelled, "I ORDER YOU NEVER TO USE THE WORD MUDBLOOD AGAIN, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"

Kreacher was furious, for "mudblood" was one of his favorite words. He had to answer the question and so gave a brief nod of understanding.

Harry's previous pity for his slave had vanished, and he wanted the creature out of his sight. 

"Go back to Hogwarts, Kreacher. And when you get there, I order you to take a bath and to wash your hair. GO!" Kreacher's fury only increased as he popped away.

Though displeased by Harry's treatment of the elf, Hermione could not muster any sympathy for Kreacher either.

"So the note could have been written by Regulus," she said, trying to distract Harry from his anger at Kreacher.

"Yeah, how many R.A.B.'s can there be," Ron added, "and everything about him seems to fit."

Harry nodded his head but did not seem completely convinced. After a few moments, he realized what was bothering him.

He turned to his mates and said, "You may be right about Regulus, but something just occurred to me. How could he have taken the locket horcrux by himself? I don't think even Dumbledore could have done it alone. He couldn't have drunk all of the potion unless I forced him to, and I don't think he would have had the strength to get out alone."

Hermione nodded her head in agreement, "That's an excellent point, Harry. From everything we know about Regulus, which I know is not a lot, he doesn't seem to be special. Certainly he was no Dumbledore."

He must have had an accomplice, they concluded, but of course they had no idea of the accomplice's identity. If they could find him or her, perhaps they could determine whether the horcrux in Slytherin's locket was destroyed.

"Maybe you can ask Kreacher again," suggested Ron.

"Maybe, but I don't want to see that piece of filth right now," spat Harry, whose mood had deteriorated during the day. "But wait a second," Harry said as a thought dawned upon him, "there might be another house elf who could help us. Dobby, come here please."

The more presentable house elf arrived promptly with a pop, hopping up and down with excitement.

"Dobby," Harry began, "you belonged to the Malfoys for a long time, right?"

Dobby's face immediately darkened upon hearing that name.

"Yes, they were bad masters. Bad wizards. Dobby was born a slave of Malfoys, many years ago."

"How long did you work for them," continued Harry, mindful that Dobby probably did not enjoy bringing up the past.

"Oh, house elves do not count like wizards. Dobby does not know how old Dobby is. But Dobby worked for bad masters a long time."

"Were you there before Lucius Malfoy was born?" Harry probed.

"Yes, I helped care for Master Lucius when he was a small wizard."  
"Did you ever see the Blacks when Lucius was growing up?" Harry asked, assuming that two related elite pure-blood families would have had social contact.

"Yes, yes, Harry Potter," said Dobby excitedly, for he felt he was being a help in some manner, "Blacks and Malfoys often visited. Sometimes the Blacks come to Malfoy Manor, sometimes the Malfoys come here, where the Blacks lived."

"So you knew Sirius and Regulus Black, right?" Harry continued, knowing that they would have been about the same age as Lucius.

"Lucius played with Regulus when they were small wizards, yes I saw Regulus many times."

"Wasn't Lucius older than Regulus? Why didn't he play with Sirius?" Hermione asked, speaking for the first time since Dobby arrived. She now saw where Harry was going with his questioning.

"Lucius and Sirius hated each other. Never played together, only fought. But Lucius and Regulus liked each other," explained Dobby.

Harry doubted that Lucius would have assisted Regulus in stealing and destroying the locket, if in fact it was destroyed, so Harry pressed on.

"Dobby, all of this is very helpful. Thank you. Do you know if Regulus had other friends?

"Dobby did not know Regulus Black much, but Dobby served at many big parties where the Blacks came. Dobby remembers that Regulus played often with Dumbledore's friend, Snape."

"Regulus was friends with Snape?" Harry asked semi-shocked. Ron and Hermione shifted in their seats at the news, which came as a surprise to all of them.

"Yes, Dobby did not like Regulus or Snape. Not nice boys. Not nice wizards. Master Lucius also played with them at big parties. Not Sirius. Only argued and fought with Sirius."

Somehow knowing that his beloved godfather, Sirius Black, did not get on well with three future death eaters filled Harry with pride.

Ron injected himself into the questioning, asking, "Did Regulus have other close friends that you know of?

"Dobby does not know. But Dobby knows that Regulus became a bad wizard. Snape too. Followed the dark lord. Dobby heard masters talk. Dobby heard that Regulus was killed by the dark lord. Dark lord was not happy with Regulus, Dobby does not know why."

"Thank you Dobby, you've been very helpful." Harry said, indicating that the house elf could leave. "Well, what do you think. Could Snape have helped Regulus get the locket?"  
"Could be," Hermione surmised, "but there's no way to know without asking him, and I doubt that he's going to tell us, even if he is on our side."

"Believe me, he will talk," growled Harry, and Ron and Hermione were taken aback at Harry's anger and aggression.

"We're getting way ahead of ourselves. Regulus may have had a lot of friends who could have helped him," Hermione pointed out, "and we don't have any way of finding Snape. He has to be in hiding."

"Maybe we could owl him," suggested Ron, "say that we need to see him, that Dumbledore told you that he's still on our side. Maybe he'd agree to see us."

"I'm sure he's made himself unplottable," noted Hermione, "otherwise the ministry could just track an owl right to him."

The three leaned back in their seats feeling defeated at the dead end. Harry was considering Snape and Dumbledore. There was something there that only the two of them knew. Dumbledore would never speak of it, not even to Harry. The thought of Dumbledore carried Harry back to the night of his death, to his weakness from the potion, to the avada kedavra curse that killed him, to the look on Snape's face, to seeing the headmaster's pale body outside the castle in the dark, to hearing Fawkes' plaintive song later.

"Wait a minute," Harry exploded as he jumped from his chair. "How about Fawkes? Phoenixes can do a lot of things that owls can't, and they are extremely intelligent. I've seen Dumbledore give Fawkes complicated directions, and it understands perfectly. Maybe the unplottable charm wouldn't work on a Phoenix. Disapparation wards don't, as Fawkes can come and go at Hogwarts as it pleases."

Hermione gave the matter her full concentration. "You may have something there, Harry, but of course a phoenix will only do it if it wants to. And Fawkes was Dumbledore's bird, not yours."

"No, no." corrected Harry, "Fawkes was not a pet. He stayed with Dumbledore only because he wanted to; it could have left whenever it wanted."

"You're right," agreed Hermione, "but my point is that Fawkes may not agree to do it. And what if Fawkes delivers the message when Snape is around other death eaters. If he's really still our spy, it could give him away. It might ruin everything."

"We could tell Fawkes only to give it to Snape if he is by himself. Fawkes could do that," Ron assured them. He liked Harry's idea.

"He can," Harry agreed, "but Hermione's right. We would have to be very careful about how to do it. And we have to see if Fawkes will even come if I call. It came in the Chamber of Secrets. . . . "  
"OK," Hermione sighed, grudgingly consenting. "We need to try to find Snape anyway, whether or not he knows anything about the locket."

"Right!" said Harry, making the decision final. "We have some planning to do."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

Take It or Leave It

Problems abounded as the three friends developed their plans. Every time they felt they had all angles covered, a new one arose. Perhaps the most difficult aspect was the knowledge that the plan hinged entirely on the willingness of Fawkes to help. It did not seem proper, however, to call the magical creature solely for the purpose of asking whether it was willing. The plan needed to be in place in all respects, and as the plan currently stood, one indispensable element needed to be resolved: veritaserum.

Veritaserum understandably was highly regulated in the magical world. The truth-telling potion could not be purchased from just any apothecary. Permits needed to be obtained, a process that would take far too long even if legitimate grounds to acquire the potion existed. Brewing it themselves also proved unpractical due to the length of time required and the difficulty in obtaining the necessary ingredients. Surely the potion could be purchased on the black market, but Harry, Ron and Hermione were hardly the types to know where the black market might be. The obvious location would be Knockturn Alley, but in which shop? How do you ask for it?

Thought was given to amending the plan to eliminate the veritaserum, but this proved to be impossible. Veritaserum must be obtained. They were averse to stealing it but finally accepted that theft may be the easiest route, if they could nip the potion without revealing themselves. Once again, Harry called for his secret weapon.

"Harry Potter called Dobby?" the house elf asked as he arrived with a soft pop. House elves apparated much more quietly than most wizards.

"Dobby, I hate to ask you this, but we have a big problem," Harry began, "We need to obtain some veritaserum, the truth-telling potion, and we were wondering if you knew whether Professor Slughorn has any in his office."

If the house elf was surprised by this question, which was not the type a house elf is accustomed to, Dobby did not show it. Instead, he quickly responded, "Dobby does not know about Slug's office, Dobby did not have to clean that office. But Dobby knows how to find truth potion."

The ears of the three conspirators perked up at this statement. Harry asked Dobby to explain.

"Dobby knows many house elves, Harry Potter. Dobby has a cousin, his name is Corky. Corky is a slave house elf. The master of Corky is a wizard, a bad wizard. Dobby thinks the name of the bad wizard is Livingstone. Livingstone makes bad potions and sells to bad wizards. Master Malfoy sent me many times to take potions to Malfoy Manor. Very secret. Bad potions."

"Do you think you could get some veritaserum for us, Dobby," Hermione asked kindly, for she had become extremely fond of the diminutive elf.

"Dobby thinks so. Dobby must see Corky. Dobby has not seen Corky for a long time because Dobby is not a slave of Malfoys now."

"That's right, Dobby, you are a free elf now," gushed Hermione, "and someday we'll try to free all of the house elves."

Harry forced his face to remain impassive at Hermione's assertion, and Dobby shuffled his feet nervously, but house elves are excitable by nature, and Hermione did not seem to notice anything unusual.

"We would be very thankful if you could check with Corky about the veritaserum," Harry said to Dobby. Harry now realized just how wise it had been to enslave Dobby and enlist him in the cause. A house elf could do so much that they could not. "If we need to pay for it, we can."

"Yes Harry Potter, Dobby can check. But Dobby needs to be careful, must not be seen by bad wizard Livingstone and bad wife. They do not like house elf visitors." Dobby explained. In an instant he was gone, and Harry held out hope that Dobby would succeed where they could not. Save the potion, the plan to contact Severus Snape was completed.

Hermione brought Harry the Daily Prophet every day, as Harry did not want to risk divulging his location by subscribing to the daily. Having already read it cover to cover, Hermione pointed out the articles of interest. Of late, by mid August, a number of articles reported on the status of Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall's name appeared in the news frequently. The Prophet did not overtly attack her, given the fact that she was a close confidant to Dumbledore, and Dumbledore in death was now revered by the press and the public. Death is the best way to improve one's approval ratings.

The Prophet did subtly suggest that McGonagall was not up to the job of headmaster, going out of its way to emphasize the word "interim" and the plans of Hogwart's board of governors to find a permanent headmaster. Whether Hogwarts would open on September first had not yet been decided, and every day they expected an announcement to be made. As it turned out, Harry did not need to read it in the newspaper, as one morning after breakfast Hermione arrived earlier than usual bearing two large Hogwarts envelops. She had already opened hers and gave the other to Harry.

Along with the routine contents of the mailing, Harry found a form letter from Professor McGonagall informing students and their families that Hogwarts indeed would open on schedule. She described in detail the various protections and procedures the school had adopted to ensure the safety of those students electing to enrol. Between the lines, Harry understood that many students, or better said their parents, would choose not to return to Hogwarts.

Professor McGonagall had also sent a short personal letter to Harry:

**_Dear Mr. Potter: _**

Given the protections you have placed on your residence, I trust you will not object that I have sent your Hogwarts letter to Miss Granger, whom I have asked to hand-deliver it to you. As you can see, after much deliberation and preparation, Hogwarts will in fact open on September first.

I very much need to speak with you regarding your return to Hogwarts and related matters. Given your unusual circumstances, I believe that certain arrangements need to be made. Please contact me promptly so that we can determine a time and place to meet.

Professor Minerva McGonagall  
Interim Headmistriss  
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

McGonagall's letter forced Harry, Hermione and Ron to decide once and for all whether they would return to Hogwarts for their final year. They well knew the importance of seventh year during normal times, as NEWT exams were presented at the end of the year, which played an often decisive role in determining a wizard or witch's career. Harry frankly had not given career options a second thought since Dumbledore's death, as quite reasonably he doubted that he would have a career. His friends were not amused by his off-handed comment, "Not many jobs for someone six feet under. Worm salesman, maybe."

Ron and especially Hermione still assumed that they would live past the next year, so the decision not to return to Hogwarts proved especially difficult. They had promised Harry that they would help him, but somehow in the back of their minds, they believed that one way or the other Harry and they would return to Hogwarts. Harry made his intentions quite clear however, "The only way I could return to school is if McGonagall allowed me to come and go as necessary, to skip classes and exams as necessary. She'd never agree to that. If I were her, I wouldn't agree to that."

Hermione felt especially conflicted, as she was named Head Girl, a tremendous honor in the magical world. Past head boys and girls at Hogwarts had gone on to important and successful careers, including a number of Ministers of Magic. For a muggle-born witch to be appointed was especially noteworthy, having occurred only a handful of times over the centuries. Ron and Harry congratulated her warmly and sincerely, and Harry felt a wave of pride flow through him. He could see, however, the pain in her face when they discussed their options. She desperately wanted to return to Hogwarts.

As for himself, Harry did not care a bit. He considered writing to McGonagall to inform her of his decision not to return, thereby eliminating the necessity of what promised to be an uncomfortable meeting with her. By his reckoning, a lot of students were not going to return, so why should his refusal to return cause any special concern.  
When he expressed this opinion to Ron and Hermione, they burst into laughter. "Harry, you are so thick sometimes," chuckled Ron.

"Why?" asked Harry, puzzled. "I know they want me to be there, but they want everyone else too. The Patil twins won't be back, I'll bet."

Hermione's laughter reduced to a grin as she explained the situation in easy terms, as if explaining it to a third grader, "Harry, you are special! You are not the Patil twins, or Hannah Abbott, or Ernie McMillan, or Ron Weasley, or Hermione Granger. You are Harry Potter!"

Harry shrugged his shoulders, failing to see the point. "Sure, I know I'm different. I'm famous and all that. They won't be happy about it, I know. But what's the big deal?"

"The big deal," Ron explained, "is that the wizarding world doesn't care if Hermione, or Ernie or I don't return. That won't make the Prophet. If Harry Potter doesn't return, here's the headine: HARRY POTTER REFUSES TO RETURN TO HOGWARTS. FEARS FOR HIS SAFETY, or some rubbish like that. It would send shockwaves through the ministry and the public, not to mention what it would do to Hogwarts." As a pureblood wizard, Ron had a more instinctive feel for the reactions of the magical world, much like an immigrant never quite understands the nuances of an adopted country as well as a native born.

"Don't you see, Harry?" continued Hermione. "If you don't return, probably half of the students who have decided to return, however small that number may be, will leave Hogwarts for good."

Harry sat dumbfounded. Did people really care that much about what he does? Finally he asked, "Do you really think so. I mean, it just doesn't make sense to me."

"It doesn't have to make sense, Harry." Ron replied. "People are weird sometimes. Whether you are at Hogwarts or not shouldn't make any difference, I agree. Not logically. But people are not logical all of the time."

Truthfully, Harry had never considered returning to Hogwarts after Dumbledore's death, but the information about the effect his "defection" would cause the school deeply troubled him. He loved Hogwarts. Never would he do anything to harm the institution, but what options did he have? If he did not defeat Voldemort, then what did it matter anyway. Hogwarts will either be destroyed, or more likely will be placed under the control of Voldemort to serve his evil plans. No, he could not return to Hogwarts, and he explained his reasons to Ron and Hermione.

"I agree," said Ron, "Don't think I was trying to change your mind. I haven't changed my mind; I'm staying with you. It's just weird not going back, and I haven't told my parents yet. My mum will blow the roof off the Burrow. You'll probably hear it all the way here."

Glancing at Hermione, Harry noticed that she was biting her lower lip, which Harry had seen her do thousands of times. "You want to go back, don't you Hermione?" he asked, stating the obvious.

Embarrassed, she nodded her head. "I do want to go back. I mean, I know they'll let us take seventh year later, after you defeat Voldemort, but it would never be the same as doing it this year, with our own group. And I know it shouldn't matter, but this year I would be Head Girl, and I won't be if we go sometime in the future." Hermione considered this last statement to be self-centered and quickly added, "But what we have to do is so much more important. We all have to make sacrifices."

Harry now felt truly upset about this whole issue, which before had been among the least of his worries. A meeting with McGonagall was arranged. Harry would meet Hermione and Ron at the Burrow the next day, where they would have dinner with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and Ginny. Afterward, McGonagall would arrive.

Molly Weasley had tried to convince Harry to have all of his meals with them at the Burrow, since he was only the floo away, but other than acceding on one occasion, Harry turned down the invitations. He had to keep his distance from Ginny. When he was at Grimmauld Place, he only occasionally thought of Ginny, as he had many other preoccupations. At the Burrow, the "Ginny Problem" was painfully unavoidable.

All day prior to dinner, Harry rehearsed his comments for his meeting with the interim headmistress, and more importantly for Ginny. For some reason he was more worried about this encounter with his former girlfriend than the earlier one (and he was plenty worried that time as well). He had barely spoken with her after awakening from his coma, and he recalled her terse words to Hermione while he was still in the coma but aware: "This is the way it's going to be, isn't it? Harry and you guys are going to go around doing Merlin knows what, and then Harry comes back like this. . . . . Just do whatever you have to do." The more he pondered it, the more pessimistic Harry become.

As agreed, Harry arrived midafternoon, well before dinner, to have time to visit. Being the weekend, Mr. Weasley and others would not have to work. Harry hoped that a huge crowd would occupy the Burrow, but when he arrived, only Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ron and Ginny were there. After a brief conversation with Arthur and Molly, the three teenagers stepped outside. The wind had picked up and was blowing briskly through the leaves, but otherwise the day was warm and comfortable, and Harry would have enjoyed the open air if he had taken a moment to consider it. Instead all of his attention focused on the beautiful younger sister of his best friend.

After a few minutes in the yard and removing several gnomes from their squatted homes, Harry knew that Ginny was steaming mad and barely keeping a lid on it. "Better get it over with, Potter," he told himself, and silently he motioned for Ron to leave. Feeling the pea-soup-thick tension, Ron was happy to depart.

Ginny and Harry walked silently to a secluded area of the yard so as not to be seen or heard. Harry made no pretense that all was fine, and he at last turned to Ginny and said, "What is it?"

Likewise, the red head did not pretend to be content. "You are it, that's what it is."  
"All right, then tell me," said Harry, who found that he wanted to confront this once and for all, for better or worse.

"You've shoved me out of your life, Harry," Ginny almost shouted. "You meet with Ron and Hermione every day, you almost kill yourself doing who knows what. Then you wake up like nothing happened."

Harry responded gently, for he could not feel that Ginny was being unreasonable. "I told you my life would be complicated, Ginny. This is what I'm talking about. Maybe complicated in not the right word. Dangerous is the right word."

"Danger is one thing. Getting yourself almost killed is another." Ginny retorted, perhaps not thoroughly analyzing her statement.. The wind was blowing Harry's hair relentlessly, and several strands of Ginny's hair had escaped their bindings, blowing across her eyes and face. Every so often Ginny had to reach up to pull the hairs out of her eyes. Harry found it to be a most attractive movement, but he forced himself back to the matter at hand. He was going to lay it on the line.

"Ginny, let me be perfectly clear." Harry paused, for he did not enjoy speaking these next words, though he had thought them to himself often. "What I have to do is extremely dangerous. It has to do with Voldemort, and I have to do it! I have no choice! If I live until my next birthday, Ginny, it will be a miracle. Do you understand, I am going to be killed. I just don't know when yet."

Harry expected Ginny to be dismayed at these blunt words, but she did not appear phased at all. She considered her next words for a moment, as they seemed to be important to her, as if she had rehearsed them at great length. "Harry, I will not go on this way. Either we get back together, or we each go our own ways. I'm not afraid of the danger. I'm not afraid of dying. I'm not afraid of fighting. But I will not be treated like I am nobody. Harry, I deserve to be a part of what you need to do, and you need help. You can't do it all on your own. I will help you, Harry, if you'll let me. But if you feel that I am too big of a "distraction," then let me know. Just don't expect me to come running back to you when it's all over."

Ginny's words gradually sunk in, and Harry remained silent for a long time. Didn't she understand that I'm going to die, Harry asked himself. Why should we get back together just so that it can be torn apart by my death? Or by her death. It would be a great comfort to have her by his side, that was true, but Harry also felt that Ginny was overestimating her value to the operation. This is a war, Harry reminded himself for the millionth time. Personal desires must be set aside. You must do what makes the most sense strategically. She will be a distraction and will not greatly enhance the war effort. Yes, Ginny was a talented witch, great with the bat bogey hex and a talented flier, plus she was tough as nails, but she was not extraordinarily talented like Hermione.

Underlying this rational consideration was a layer of anger at Ginny's comments. Why can she not understand what I have to do? Is being together more important than killing Voldemort? A coldness inside of Harry began to grow; a coldness he had rarely felt before. "Forget her," it told him, "She doesn't understand you. She's putting you on the spot thinking you'll cave. She thinks you are weak." Harry's eyes narrowed as he locked out his softer side. "Soft is not for warriors. I must be hard."

His mind made up, Harry tried to open his mouth but could not for several more seconds. Finally he let the coldness take over, and he spoke, "I'm sorry then, Ginny. We can't be together. If this is the end, so be it. I wish you only the best."

Shock registered on the red head's face as she recognized what Harry was saying. She knew it was a risk, but she felt confident that Harry would not be able to leave her behind, not if she gave him an ultimatum. But now she could see that this was not the Harry Potter of two months earlier. She had misread him. Despite her shock she asked, "Are you sure, Harry? Truly certain?"

Was he sure? Yes he was. He would not show weakness; he would not do anything to damage his chances for success in his struggle. If this was the end, so be it. "Yes, I'm certain," he replied softly.

The two gazed at each other in sadness, and Harry saw tears begin to well up in Ginny's eyes. She did not want to give Harry the satisfaction, or so she perceived, of seeing her cry, so she turned and began to walk back to the Burrow. Harry watched her first slow steps, then a trot and finally a sprint across the patchy lawn. "What have I done?" he asked himself. As he turned to walk slowly along the edge of the forest, he answered, "What I had to do!"

Mrs. Weasley's dinner was delicious as usual, though Harry had to say that Dobby's cooking was every bit as good. The table was full of Weasleys, Arthur and Molly, Fred and George (sans female distractions), Ron and Ginny. Hermione, Harry and Remus completed the list. Remus often ate with the Weasleys when possible, as Molly knew he could not eat so well anywhere else. Harry noted that Remus was noticeably thinner than a few months before.

Ginny had obviously been crying, despite her attempts to mask the puffy red eyes. Molly and Hermione noticed immediately, even if the other men did not. Ginny said not a word, and Harry only spoke when spoken too. Hermione moved her gaze from one to the other and quickly enough pieced two and two together. Harry happened to look at Hermione when her gaze was on him, and their eyes locked. "She knows," Harry thought. "Of course she knows. She always knows." Harry tried to read her face, but it remained inscrutable, though she did not seem upset.

Molly seemed to understand what had happened as well, and when Ginny abruptly left the table after supper, Molly did not ask that she help in the kitchen as she normally would. She let Ginny climb upstairs to her room There would be time to comfort her only daughter later. Professor McGonagall arrived shortly after they had finished eating, and after exchanging pleasantries with Molly and Arthur, she asked for a quiet place for her meeting with Harry.

"Ron and Hermione need to be there too, Professor," Harry interjected, "This concerns them as well."  
Bill's old bedroom was deemed the most appropriate site, and after McGonagall conjured a few chairs (comfortable enough, but not as nice as Dumbledore's), the four settled in for what Harry expected to be a most unpleasant conversation.

"Thank you for arranging this meeting so promptly, Mr. Potter," Professor McGonagall began, "and I am pleased that Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger are also here."

Only a month had passed since McGonagall visited Harry at 4 Privet Drive, yet she seemed to have aged ten years. Harry could not help but feel sympathy for the woman. He could only imagine the whirlwind of concerned parents, demanding governors, manipulative ministry officials, and devious reporters hounding her.

"I would like to discuss your seventh year at Hogwarts. But firstly, I must congratulate Miss Granger on your appointment as Head Girl. You are indeed most deserving, and I can tell you that for the first time in many years, the advisory vote of the faculty was unanimous in recommending you. Of course I heartily agreed.. I look forward to working with you this year."

Hermione smiled ever so slightly, dreading where this conversation must end. A response was required, and Hermione kept it simple, "Thank you, Professor. I'm very grateful to all of you."

"You are quite welcome, Miss Granger. Now as for the coming school year, I will not attempt to deceive you. It will be a difficult year for all - students, teachers, and parents. Surely you have been following the saga in the Daily Prophet, about one fourth of which has actually been accurate. As we feared, a good many students will not be returning, and our incoming class will be the smallest in memory. Yet Hogwarts will open, and will have a successful term."

Harry felt admiration for his former Transfiguration teacher. While she was not a person of great affection, Harry knew that she was sincere, good-hearted (beneath the gruff exterior), and hard working. He hated to say what he must say, but it had to be done. "Professor, I think I should inform you of something now, before we go any further." Professor McGonagall nodded her head, almost as if expecting this. "Well, as you know, Dumbledore . . . . I mean Professor Dumbledore and I had a number of meetings last term, and as a result of his death, I, uh, I have to finish the work that he started."

The words did not flow from Harry's mouth as he had wished. He was nervous and still suffering the aftereffects of his break-up with Ginny. Taking a deep breath, he looked at Hermione, who gave him an encouraging smile. He continued, "This work is extremely important, and well, I don't think I can do the work if I go to Hogwarts this term." Harry was surprised that this drew no reaction from McGonagall; he had expected her at the least to show some sign of displeasure or surprise. "Of course, I would very much like to go if I could, but this work will definitely require me to travel to different places at different times, probably on short notice. I can't see how I could do justice to my studies if I attended Hogwarts and tried to complete these tasks. I am very sorry, Professor."  
The headmistress merely gazed at Harry silently for several moments, so Hermione took the opportunity to speak, "Professor, Ron and I have promised to help Harry. What Harry has to do is of greatest importance, and though I am honored to be named Head Girl, I am afraid that we also will not be able to attend Hogwarts this term. We truly are very sorry." Ron nodded his head in agreement, thankful that he need not speak.

Professor McGonagall, instead of losing her temper or demonstrating some sign of disappointment, merely smiled as she said, "I think that what I have to say to you may have some bearing on your decision. Mr. Potter, you are not the only recipient of correspondence from Professor Dumbledore. I too received a long letter of instructions from the headmaster, who as I told you at your uncle's house was a man of great foresight. He correctly predicted that you would not elect to return to Hogwarts in the event of his death; however, he clearly indicated in his letter that he desires for the three of you to attend school this term."

The three students dropped their jaws in shock. Harry especially could not believe his ears. How could he possibly do his job if he was stuck in school? Dumbledore must have known better. Harry would have to disagree with his mentor on this issue. Before Harry could speak, however, the headmistress resumed her dialogue.

"No doubt you are thinking that you will not be able to complete your task if confined to the school grounds and occupied with classes and exams. Professor Dumbledore has also foreseen this problem and has strongly advised me to make special allowances for you, Mr. Potter." She looked directly at Harry, who stared right back, dying to know what Dumbledore suggested. "Indeed he indicated the seriousness of your task, though he did not inform me of its nature. He instructed me not to inquire this of you. Instead he has indicated that I should allow you, Mr. Potter, to have the right to leave the school grounds at any time you should deem it necessary for your task. While he did not mention Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger, I believe that the same rules should apply to them, so long as they are with you, Mr. Potter, or are leaving at your direction."

The three friends looked at each other in astonishment. The idea seemed preposterous. Harry remembered telling the others that he could only go to Hogwarts under these very conditions. He did not intend to go though the motions of asking for such concessions, as the idea was blatantly ludicrous. Hogwarts students cannot leave the grounds - the most basic rule of the school. But what about classes and exams? Harry needed clarification. "Professor, I must admit I am extremely surprised by your agreement to those conditions, since that was the primary reason I could not return. But there is also the matter of classes and exams, as we'll be spending a great deal of time on our task, even if we are at Hogwarts. Hermione can pass all of the courses anyway, but Ron and I will never be able to keep our scores up."

"Ah yes, well Professor Dumbledore has foreseen that issue as well. Though you may not believe it, the headmaster also indicated that you should not be required to do course work or take exams if you feel unable to do so competently. Again he mentioned this only for Mr. Potter, but the same should apply to Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger as well, though I agree that Miss Granger can quite probably pass all of her NEWTS today."

Harry should have felt ecstatic. He could go back to Hogwarts, his true home, the place he loved above all others. Yet disappointment filled him, for he had assumed for weeks that he would not attend. His mind was swirling with confusion.

On the other hand, ecstasy filled Hermione's heart. "I can present the examinations if I want to, right, Professor?" Ron and Harry had to chuckle at their friend.

"Of course, Miss Granger," replied McGonagall with a thin smile, which immediately left her face. "It should not be a surprise to you that I am most reluctant to agree to Professor Dumbledore's advice; however, I have given the matter a great deal of thought and have reread the Professor's instructions many times. I will agree to these freedoms for you. In return I ask only that you treat these freedoms with due responsibility. You are not to leave the grounds merely to drink butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks. You are not to inform other students of your special privileges, for obvious reasons. You should do your assignments and exams to the greatest extent possible. I believe you can understand the delicacy of my position if this arrangement become public. To put it bluntly, the Governors will have my head. Can you give me these assurances."

"Of course," responded Hermione immediately, and Ron also grunted his assent. Harry remained silent.

"Mr. Potter, do you have any concerns?" asked the Professor, noting Harry's reticence.

"I'm just so surprised," Harry sputtered, as he looked at the bright faces of his friends. He could not disappoint them, and he now had no reason not to return to school. Nevertheless, something inside of him was pulling him away, advising him not to return. Ultimately, the anticipation on the faces of his best friends won him over. "I have no concerns, Professor. I will be pleased to attend Hogwarts this term."

Harry's reservations were removed by the enthusiasm of the Head Girl. Hermione hugged Harry so many times that evening, that he hoped his ribs would not bruise too badly. "I'm going back to Hogwarts," Harry told himself over and over, convincing himself that it was true. How did that happen? The old man at work! Harry gave a weak smile.

Later that evening, shortly before Harry and Hermione planned to leave, for each of them insisted on returning to their homes, Hermione had calmed enough to notice Harry's distinct lack of enthusiasm. She recalled their supper and the tension between Harry and Ginny, and the fact that Ginny had been crying. Harry sat in the sitting room staring at Mrs. Weasley's clock, not paying attention to the ongoing conversation and laughter in the room.

Hermione approached Harry, reached for his hand and said, "Come with me, Harry. I need to talk to you."

"What now?" thought Harry, "Haven't I had enough for today?"  
She pulled Harry by the hand out the kitchen door into the cool evening air. The coolness revived Harry, who had not realized how stuffy the Burrow had become. Hermione went right to the point, "What happened between Ginny and you?"

Harry did not want to talk about it, but there was no use avoiding the issue. "We broke up. For good."

Of course, Hermione already knew this, but she needed Harry to say it so that she could continue her probe. "Why?"

"Ask her," said Harry bitterly, "she forced it on me."

"She what? She forced it on you? How?"

"Take it or leave it. She said either I get back together with her and include her in on what we are doing, or that it was over for good. She won't be ignored, that's what she said." The more Harry thought about it the more irritated he became with Ginny. "I told her that was that then. It's over." Harry tried to sound unconcerned and nonchalant, unconvincingly.

"I'm so sorry Harry," Hermione said sympathetically, "that must have been so hard." Harry thought that Hermione would say that Ginny would get over it eventually, that it would all work out in the end, but Hermione said nothing of the sort. She still exuded happiness over the news that she could return to Hogwarts.

"Yeah, well, it's all over now. But it will be hard seeing her at Hogwarts. I didn't think about that." Harry again rued his decision to return to Hogwarts. Why was he not happy? He decided that it had been a long, terrible day, and he quickly took his leave, returning to his bed at No. 17 Grimmauld Place.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Come Back to Hogwarts

There had been a time when Harry never wanted to see Grimmauld Place again, but by the end of August, the dank mansion became his refuge. Celebrity reared its ugly head. Since they were to return to Hogwarts, Harry, Ron and Hermione, along with guards from the Order, made the ritual shopping spree at Diagon Alley to purchase their books and supplies. A couple of days earlier, the Daily Prophet featured a small headline, **HARRY POTTER TO RETURN TO HOGWARTS**, including a photograph of him that must have been taken around the time of Dumbledore's funeral.

Upon apparating to Diagon Alley, in the designated apparation area near the Leaky Cauldron, Harry had not taken twenty steps before a middle-aged witch recognized him. Her squeal of delight turned many heads of otherwise wary shoppers. Given the events of June and the constant stream of alarming news in the Prophet, shopping at Diagon Alley had become an in-and-out affair, not the day-long outing of the past. Yet upon hearing the name of a celebrity, the shoppers forgot about danger so that they could boast that they saw Harry Potter, touched his clothes, or obtained his autograph. Harry had experienced the consequences of fame before, most recently at the Ministry a couple of weeks earlier, but nothing prepared him for the onslaught on this day.

Within a minute, cries of "It's Harry Potter" rang up and down the shopping center, and a crowd of young witches, and some not so young witches, surrounded him. Soon many wizards joined the throng. He recognized quite a few teenage girls from Hogwarts, though he could not recall many names. They yelled questions at him, shoved scraps of parchment and quills at him, grabbed at his robes, ran fingers through his hair. Hermione and Ron did their best to keep the crowd at bay only to be overwhelmed, and to a lesser extent subjected to the same treatment, being Harry Potter's friends and minor celebrities in their own right.

The two members of the Order serving as guards had intended to remain under invisibility cloaks, but when the crowd did not disperse, they revealed themselves and waded into the mass of flesh to try to open a path for Harry, but this also failed. Harry decided he needed to take matters into his own hands, and instead of his failed attempts to politely ask people to move out of the way, he yelled, "QUIET PLEASE, LET ME SAY SOMETHING."

He looked for something on which to stand to be above the crowd but found nothing. Hermione realized what he was doing and whipped out her wand to conjure a wooden box. Harry gave her a smile, reciprocated by Hermione, at which point a flash temporarily blinded them. The Daily Prophet had arrived, and Harry now knew what the next morning's edition would feature.

Stepping atop the box, Harry raised his hands, and the surrounding crowd, which had grown to more than one hundred, promptly grew quiet. Hermione realized that the effect was similar to Dumbledore raising his hand in the Great Hall.

"THANK YOU ALL FOR YOUR KIND WORDS," Harry half shouted.

The muggle in him caused him to forget that he could amplify his wand, so Ron moved closer and quietly suggested, "Use your wand."Oh yeah," muttered Harry, who removed his wand and putting it to his mouth said, "Sonorus." He had practiced this charm in class, but never when it mattered, and he hoped that it would work.

He began again. "Thank you all for your kind words," his voice rang across the street. Indeed many in the crown had given him words of encouragement and confidence that he would defeat You Know Who. "As many of you have read, I am returning to Hogwarts for my final year, as are my friends, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger, who I am pleased to announce has been named as Head Girl." Harry could not resist the opportunity to show his pride in Hermione and to embarrass her. As he glanced down at her, her skin colored slightly, and a thin smile formed. Another photograph flashed. "I realize," continued Harry, "that many students may not be returning to Hogwarts, and I understand their fear. I would just like to say that I would encourage all entering and returning students to come back to Hogwarts."

The crowd was now completely silent, not expecting a pronouncement of this kind by Harry. They knew that they were seeing "news."

Harry plodded on, "We must not allow our lives to be controlled by fear. I know that we must be cautious, and I am satisfied that Hogwarts has taken all appropriate measures to ensure the safety of the school as far as possible. No place is perfectly safe, especially your own homes, but I believe that Hogwarts will be as safe a place as any. If a large portion of the student body should refuse to return, then Voldemort will have won a significant victory."

A shock wave ran through the assembly at the word "Voldemort," as few wizards or witches dared to say the name, and other than Dumbledore, none would say it in a public speech. Not only did Harry say the V word, he said it with such normality, without any effort at all.

"Now, my friends and I are here to buy our school supplies. We would very much appreciate your understanding in allowing us to do our shopping. Thank you again for your kind words."

Harry stepped off the box and made his way down the street, when after a few seconds delay a few hands started to applaud, which moments later was replaced by a full-scale ovation. After giving a brief and embarrassed wave to the crowd, Harry and the others hurried away.

The speech worked to an extent. The crowd in fact did disperse and not trail after Harry, but that did not prevent many individuals from approaching Harry for one reason or another. The three students finally managed to withdraw money from Gringott's Bank and purchase their books and other supplies. Harry did his best to act politely, but by the end of the afternoon, he was ready to slap the silencio charm on anyone who approached him. Harry had planned to apparate back to the Burrow, but he desperately desired the refuge of his home.

Ron and Hermione had been harassed as well, and all three decided to make their way to the public floo to return to Grimmauld Place. Upon arriving in the sitting room, they dropped their packages to the side of the fireplace and threw themselves onto overstuffed chairs and sofas.

"That's exhausting," said Ron, who in fact had enjoyed the attention of the crowd for the first hour or so.

"People are so ridiculous," Hermione huffed, "They see a celebrity and lose all sense of propriety. I'll never understand it."

Dobby entered the room with cold pumpkin juice and cookies, which Ron and Hermione jumped for. Harry however had not noticed the entrance of his house elf and did not seem to have paid any attention to the complaints of his friends. He was deep in thought, and from appearances, none too happy.

Ron and Hermione looked at each other, and finally Ron dared to speak.

"What are you thinking about, Harry?" Upon hearing his name, Harry jumped and seemed to realize that Ron and Hermione were still there.

"Oh, well, I just realized that I can't go anywhere anymore. It was bad at the ministry, but this was incredible. How am I supposed to do anything that we have to do if I'm going to be surrounded by a hundred people all the time."You can always use the invisibility cloak," suggested Ron.

"Sure, but I can't always be under the cloak. Sometimes I may want to be seen, but not with a crowd of looneys behind me.," Harry retorted bitterly.

"Well, you can always change your appearance, Harry. There are some spells. You know them; we studied them in Transfiguration last year," Hermione said, "Or you could use muggle methods, you know, dye your hair, make up for your scar, things like that."

"I know, I was thinking about that." replied Harry thoughtfully. "Of course one of you can completely transfigure me into someone else, but my scar doesn't transfigure easily. You remember, right" They nodded their heads. "With polyjuice potion, my scar doesn't show, but it's awfully hard to depend on that, since it only lasts an hour at a time, and it takes so long to brew. No, I like the muggle methods better, or maybe a combination of the two."

"Of course! You need makeup to cover your scar, because it's really hard and dangerous to try only to transfigure that area of your head, and even if we could, it would never exactly match the rest of your skin. But with makeup, we can just cover your whole face." Hermione was on a roll now. "We can change your hair color with no problem, that's an easy spell. And if we have enough time, you can let your beard grow; I've noticed it coming in a lot thicker now. In fact you look downright dangerous when you let it grow a couple of days, the dark two-day beard with your messy hair. The girls love it." Hermione blushed slightly as she realized what she had just said without thinking.

Harry's beard indeed was thicker than before, and he needed to shave every other day or so, although it would take him five days to grow the "two-day beard" Hermione liked so much. She had seen him in that condition on occasion, because at times he was too lazy to shave. However, other than Ginny, no other girl to his knowledge had seen his stubble, so how Hermione knew that girls loved it was a mystery.

"Well, we're going to have to do something like that; otherwise, I'll be stuck in this house forever."

At that moment, Dobby reentered the sitting room as excited as Harry had ever seen him.

"Stand still, Dobby, what's happened?" asked Harry.

Dobby gave the largest house elf smile possible (which is quite large) and took his left hand from behind his back, holding a long clear vial.

"Dobby has truth potion, Harry Potter."

The three friends could only laugh along as Dobby described how he obtained the veritaserum with the help of his cousin, Corky. A whole chapter must be written to do the story justice, but suffice it to say that Dobby and Corky staged a burglary of the apothecary run by Mr. Livingstone, causing many vials of valuable potions to be broken, their contents destroyed. Among the losses were all of his store of veritaserum, except that Dobby had already poured out two large vials of the potion (the other vial was safely stored away, Dobby told them). Since only a few drops are necessary to force a wizard to tell the truth, they now had a supply to last them years. Harry and his friends showered Dobby with so much praise that his face almost split in two from his smile.

Harry's spirits soared with the realization that they would now be able to proceed with their next plan - the questioning of Severus Snape. A tremendous amount of discussion had centered around Snape during the month of August while they waited for Dobby to obtain the truth serum. At times they were convinced that Snape remained loyal to Dumbledore, and that he must have been acting upon the headmaster's orders. Other times, that seemed to be terribly unlikely.

Yet, why did Snape not capture Harry when he could have, when the professor escaped across the Hogwarts lawn. The thought of those moments inevitably and instantaneously pushed Harry into a deep funk.

"I was useless," he castigated himself, "Snape blocked every one of my spells like I was a first year." But Snape had revealed the problem himself: unspoken spells. Harry could not do them. He could barely make a feather float in class conditions; yet Snape could place a shield, a much more difficult spell, without breaking a sweat. Harry HAD to learn how to do it.

Throughout August, Harry practiced unspoken spells. When Hermione and Ron came over, they would help, which is to say that Hermione would teach them. She was fairly good, but even she could only accomplish relatively simple spells and charms, certainly nothing as difficult as a shield or hex. True, Harry improved due to the practice, but he still felt woefully inadequate. It took him too much effort and concentration, and too much time. Snape did it without even thinking, or so it seemed. Harry intended to master unspoken spells, or at least basic proficiency in them, prior to setting their plan regarding Snape into motion. He fell far short of his goal, but only a week remained before his return to Hogwarts. The plan must be implemented right away.

With the veritaserum in hand, the mood at Grimmauld Place changed dramatically. Ron displayed his fear by constantly muttering to himself. He knew that Snape was an extremely accomplished wizard, and though much thought had been put into their plan, would it be enough? Hermione was extremely nervous, and sought release by endlessly reviewing every aspect of the plan, which required patience, precision, speed and accuracy. Harry felt not so much nervous as impatient, much the same as he felt before a quidditch match against Slytherin, only greatly intensified. He had much to discuss with Severus Snape. The conspirators memorized every detail of the plan and recited it to each other until each of them knew the exact timing of each element, the spells required, the back up plan, and even the escape plan if all went awry.

The first step required Harry to write the note to Snape. They had already parsed each word of the message, and finally agreed on this twelfth draft:

**_Professor Snape: _**

I need to arrange a meeting with you as soon as possible. Professor Dumbledore wrote me a letter prior to his death which assures me that you can be trusted, and in fact that I must trust you. His letter states that you are to be trusted no matter how it appears that you were involved with his death. I must admit that at first I had difficulty in believing this, but now I believe I can see what happened. I believe that you are still with us, and with the Order.

A meeting between us is urgent. I am continuing Professor Dumbledore's plan, but I have reached a dead end, and I believe only you can help me. Professor Dumbledore wrote that I must trust you or else I will fail. Therefore I am trusting you.

I will be waiting at the telephone booth entrance to the Ministry at 2 am this morning. I will assure that nobody else is there. We will then apparate to another location. Obviously, you must come alone. Just you and I must meet.

You need send no reply.

Harry Potter

Hermione wanted to read the letter one more time, but Harry folded it and slid it into an envelop before she had the chance. No more wasted time. The next step of the plan was the most important: Would Fawkes cooperate? All their work would be in vain if Fawkes did not come when called. Phoenixes were not like house elves. A phoenix only comes if it chooses to come, though at least Harry knew that Fawkes would have no difficulty passing through Grimmauld Place's protective wards.

The time had come, and tension filled the air in the sitting room of Harry's home. Harry stood, why he did not know, and took a deep breath.

Speaking as clearly as he could, he loudly spoke, "FAWKES, I NEED YOUR HELP."

The ticking of the ancient grandfather clock on the far wall of the sitting room echoed in the silence. Seconds passed by, then a full minute. Fawkes did not appear. Harry's heart sank. He would try once more.

"FAWKES, THIS IS HARRY POTTER. I NEED YOUR HELP. PROFESSOR DUMBLEDORE SAID I COULD SEEK OUT YOUR HELP. PLEASE COME SO THAT I CAN EXPLAIN. THANK YOU FAWKES."

Harry had no idea whether providing more detail would do any good, and the part about Dumbledore perhaps was an embellishment, but Harry felt desperate. Whatever the reason, Fawkes did in fact deign to come. The silence was suddenly rent with the crackling of fire, which appeared out of nowhere by the outside wall. The flame immediately transformed into the indescribably beautiful phoenix, which announced its arrival with its beautiful song. The three teenagers immediately felt their courage rise.

"Thank you for coming, Fawkes," Harry began.

Though he had spoken to the phoenix from time to time, he had never truly spoken to it, not like Dumbledore did. While Harry was confident that Fawkes would understand him, he also knew that phoenixes must be treated with respect. You do not order a phoenix to do anything; you can only request.

"We are trying to complete the work that Professor Dumbledore started. According to the professor, I need the help of Professor Snape. Even though Snape killed Professor Dumbledore, his letter to me said clearly that Professor Snape is not a follower of Lord Voldemort. He says I will need Professor Snape's help." Harry paused to see if the magical bird understood. Its eyes were focused on Harry, and he could only hope. "I have written a message to Professor Snape," Harry held up the envelop, "and I would sincerely appreciate you delivering it to him. Owls cannot find him or break the wards around him, but I know that you can. It's very important that you only give this to him when he is alone; otherwise, he could very well be killed by Voldemort or the death eaters. Will you help us, Fawkes?" Harry concluded in a beseeching voice.

Fawkes trilled a few thrilling notes which somehow the two wizards and witch knew were an affirmative answer.

"Thank you so much, Fawkes. I know that I can always rely on you. I will never forget what you did in the Chamber of Secrets." Harry carefully attached the envelop to the phoenix's leg, and then stood back. Fawkes leapt from the edge of the table which its talons had gripped, gave a mighty flap of his wings, and burst into flames. In an instant it was gone.

"What a beautiful bird," commented Hermione, as the three friends heaved a sigh of relief that their intensive planning had not been for naught. They checked the time, 8:30 pm, and could only wait until the appointed hour. Ron worried about his parents, as he had not informed them that he would not be home that evening. Now that he knew the plan was proceeding, he quickly wrote a note to them and sent it with Hedwig. He could only imagine the tongue-lashing he would receive when (and if) he returned to the Burrow. Hermione had lied to her parents, something she hated to do, that she was staying overnight with Ginny at the Burrow, but she was not worried about that for the moment. Her mind kept reviewing every detail.

Harry sat quietly in his chair, thinking about Snape. He hated the man. Snape somehow represented all that was wrong with Harry's life, however unfair that may be. The fact of the matter was, Harry mused, that Snape had treated Harry with disdain and arrogance from the very first day in his potions dungeon. He would show no kindness to Severus Snape.

The minutes crept by. They grudgingly ate a late meal prepared by Dobby, more to pass the time than to satisfy their hunger (though Ron managed to eat his fair share). Finally the hour approached, and they changed into the same dark clothing they wore to the museum. At 1:00 am, they walked out the front door of Grimmauld Place, checking that no one watched. They crossed the street to a secluded area from which they could apparate. Harry would be the first to leave. He threw his invisibility cloak over his head, disappearing from view. A second later, Ron and Hermione heard a crack. Harry apparated to a designated spot about a block from the telephone booth by the Ministry. Earlier in the month, the three had carefully walked the area of muggle London around the Ministry entrance and determined that this would be the best location.

Ron and Hermione were to wait for two minutes exactly. During that time, Harry walked invisibly from the apparation site to the asphalt covered lot around the telephone booth, making sure that death eaters had not arrived in advance. If anything seemed amiss, Harry was to apparate back immediately, and the plan would be aborted. Carefully rounding the final corner, his wand at the ready, Harry saw that the lot was empty, as it should have been at 1:00 am in a commercial part of the city. He ducked behind a short retaining wall to the west of the telephone booth, still under the cloak, and waited. Two minutes later, he barely saw Ron and Hermione, both dressed in black, on the other side of the street. Ron veered to the right, crossed the street beyond the lot, and quickly walked along the abandoned building to the east of the booth, hiding behind a large rubbish bin. Hermione crouched in front of the wall where Harry crouched on the other side until she reached the spot where Harry was supposed to be.

"I'm here," whispered the invisible Harry. Hermione nodded and then continued along the wall until she was at the north end of the small lot, moving into a shadow where the dim street light half a block away could not reach. Now they waited.

Thinking like Severus Snape is a dodgy proposition. Would he arrive before the appointed time, or after? Would he arrive at all? Harry felt almost positive that Snape would come. If he in fact remained loyal to Dumbledore and the Order, he would want to make contact. If he in fact was a loyal death eater, Voldemort would want him to resume his role as a spy, and hopefully deliver Harry to him. All wands were at the ready.

Harry thought he heard a soft crack up the street at ten to two. It had to be an apparation, and there was only one crack, a good sign. A minute later, Harry barely sensed a shadow moving along the street next to the building, entering the lot opposite Harry. As the shadow moved closer, Harry recognized Snape's gait.

"Wait, Harry, wait," he reminded himself. Snape was an extremely gifted wizard, and three against one was about even odds if the initial strike failed. The older wizard slowly turned the same corner Ron had passed by earlier, and stopped, looking for any movement, but Ron, Hermione and Harry remained motionless and out of sight. Obviously Snape suspected a trap set by the Ministry or the Order and probably would not dared to have come if the message had not been delivered by Fawkes.

The lot appeared completely vacant to Snape, so he edged along the wall of the abandoned building, now only twenty feet from Ron's position. Snape would have to edge in front of the bin, and then move only feet away from both Hermione and Ron, and only yards away from Harry. Hermione was to begin the action, as she was most proficient at unspoken spells, and she had been practicing this one for most of the month of August, preparing for this moment. Moving slightly away from the wall when Snape had turned his back, she pointed her wand and thought with all her might, "Expelliarmus."

Snape's wand jumped out of his hand and for a split second he froze. Ron immediately shouted "Petrificus Totalus" while Harry shouted "Silencio" to prevent his former professor from speaking. Precise as clockwork. Snape fell paralyzed to the pavement. Harry jumped over the short wall whipping the cloak off of himself and over his nemesis, covering all but his head. The look of shock on Snape's face was beautiful, Harry thought, but this was no time to gloat. Death eaters could be on the way.

Hermione pulled a cloth from a pocket and wrapped it around Snape's eyes. Ron and Harry lifted Snape off the asphalt by his stiff elbows. Harry covered Snape and himself with the cloak, grabbed the professor's arm, and then apparated the both of them back to where they started in front of Grimmauld Place. Ron grabbed Snape's wand, and then Hermione and he cracked back next to Harry. The street was clear, and in a moment, Professor Severus Snape was their prisoner inside of No. 17 Grimmauld Place.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

A Hatred of a Lifetime

As Hermione levitated Professor Snape into the sitting room of Grimmauld Place, Harry, Ron and Hermione glanced at each other, each with a dazed expression. The plan worked so well that they almost could not believe it. In fact, it worked so well that Harry wanted to discuss the matter before questioning Snape. He called for Dobby and instructed him to watch Snape until they returned. This probably was not necessary since their prisoner was in the full-body bind, but better to be cautious.

"Didn't that seem to go almost too smoothly," asked Harry, wondering if he was paranoid. He ran a hand through his black hair.

"I know what you mean," Hermione agreed, taking off her black pullover, "but we did put a lot of thought into this. I don't think we've ever planned anything so thoroughly." She shook her hair after the pullover passed her head.

"Do you think he might have some sort of homing device, some way for Voldemort to track us?" Harry worried aloud, his eyes narrowed.

"Shouldn't matter, should it?" Ron expressed, "The wards on the house should still work. And Snape doesn't have his wand, so he can't do anything about it." Ron held up the chipped black wand belonging to the potions master.

They exchanged worried looks, but finally Harry decided, "I think our plan just worked out better than what we expected. Usually something goes wrong, but this time, I think it was brilliant. Let's hope so anyway."

Harry took a deep breath and asked, "You both know what we are doing now, right?" The others nodded their heads, and they returned to the sitting room. Dobby had moved Professor Snape to the sofa, where he was lying down stiff as a board.

All three had their wands pointed at their former teacher. By now Snape had composed himself and did not betray any emotion. His appearance had changed little in the two months since his murder of Dumbledore, perhaps slightly thinner, though that was not easy to discern beneath his wizard robes.

In a choreographed procession, Harry said "Finite Incantatum" to remove all of the spells from the older man, Hermione followed with "Incarcerous" and ropes wrapped around Snape's legs and pinned his arms to his sides. Ron then pulled the blindfold from the eyes, and with Harry's help stood him up by the open stone wall next to the grandfather clock.

"You are to be congratulated," sneered Snape, stretching his jaw, "I never would have believed that you could execute a plan so efficiently." The derision in his voice reminded Harry just why he hated him so intensely.

Harry kept his cool, and as planned, Hermione spoke first, "Professor, if it turns out that you in fact have remained loyal to Professor Dumbledore and the Order of the Phoenix, then we sincerely apologize for our treatment of you. However, we cannot take any chances. You must convince us that you are not a loyal death eater." Hermione's tone betrayed her nerves, but the words were spoken with a studied coolness.

Snape initially looked at Hermione's face but soon stared at Harry. Harry stared right back, and the mutual hatred between the men was palpable.

Hermione finished her statement, "We are going to ask you questions, and unless you can convince us, we will deliver you to the Order of the Phoenix to do with you as it will."

"Did you kill Albus Dumbledore?" Harry immediately shot at his sworn enemy.

Snape did not speak for close to half a minute as he continued to stare at Harry. No doubt he was considering his options, whether he should refuse to speak, or insist on removal of his binds, or how he should answer the difficult questions to come. The stern expressions of his interrogators convinced him of the futility of refusing to cooperate.

"I did."

"Explain yourself" asked Harry tersely.

"Professor Dumbledore was dying, and he knew it. He also was aware of a plot to kill him, as I had gathered some information from the servants of the dark lord. We knew that Draco Malfoy may attempt to commit the murder, if he had the nerve. Professor Dumbledore very much desired that Draco not become a murderer, as he felt that Draco could be directed away from the dark lord. Dumbledore specifically instructed me to kill him instead of Draco if that should become necessary in order to prevent Malfoy from committing the act. I refused many times, but he insisted. Finally I relented and agreed to his instructions; however, he forced me to take a Wizard's Vow as he could not be sure I would refuse if the time came. I reluctantly took the vow. If I did not kill Dumbledore, then I would have died myself, for such is the consequence of the Wizard's Vow." Snape remained expressionless throughout.

"Why did you not choose death over murder?" Harry countered accusatorially.

"Because unlike you, Potter," Snape responded condescendingly, "I can see the larger picture. If I refused to complete the vow, I would die. In any event, Professor Dumbledore also would have died, for if Draco had not mustered the willpower to complete his task, the other death eaters in the tower were more than willing to do so. My death would have served no purpose. Though I knew that I would be ostracized from Hogwarts and the wizarding world, at least I could continue to gather information and ultimately determine a method in which to pass the information to the Order of the Phoenix. Not enough time has passed for this to be possible, though I hoped that my meeting with you tonight might begin that process."

"Perhaps it will," responded Harry full of doubt, "I know that you were attempting to help Draco with his work in the Room of Requirements. What did you know about that?"

"Nothing. Well virtually nothing." Snape clearly resented this questioning and required all of his self control to resist a verbal assault on his least favorite students. "I knew that he had an important task given to him by the dark lord himself. As far as I know only he knew of it, although I believe that his mother may also have been aware, for she was extremely upset. I offered my help to Draco in an attempt to learn the nature of his task, but he resolutely refused. I knew his work was progressing badly, given his defeated demeanor and poor class work. Other Slytherins also informed me of his erratic behavior. Professor Dumbledore was quite displeased with me, as he had requested that I learn this information. Most regrettably, I failed."

Harry silently pondered his next question, which allowed Hermione an opportunity to insert one of her own, "What did you know about Professor Dumbledore's 'private lessons' with Harry?"

"Nothing, though I asked often. I thought I could be of assistance. But the headmaster steadfastly refused to provide any information. We all knew he was away from Hogwarts frequently, but the purpose of his absences was a mystery to all of the faculty."

The question that Harry truly wanted to ask, that he had wanted to ask from the time he had learned of the prophecy, involuntarily escaped his lips, "Why did you betray my parents to Voldemort?" Harry's taut face was little more than a foot away from Snape's.

"DO NOT USE THE DARK LORD'S NAME," spat Snape, saliva spraying Harry's face.

It happened so quickly that Ron and Hermione were not immediately sure it had. Harry's left fist struck the diaphragm of the teacher. This first punch lacked force, but it merely served as a set up to the right hand thrusting into Snape's stomach with all the power Harry could muster.

"DON'T YOU TELL ME WHAT TO DO!," Harry yelled while he pummeled him. Defenseless, Snape doubled over in pain and shock, only to be struck again by a sidewinder to his jaw, which emitted a sickening crack.

"HARRY!" screamed Hermione, and Ron raced to restrain his friend, but not before his right hand landed another blow glancing off the top of Snape's head. "Stop it, Harry!"

Ron had wrapped his arms around his best friend and whispered as calmly as he could, "Just settle down, Harry. If he's lying, we'll deal with him later." Harry's nostrils flared and his eyes filled with venom, as all the hatred he felt for the man was released. Gradually his muscles relaxed, and Ron slowly loosened his grip after pulling Harry a safe distance away from his prey.

Blood tickled from Snape's mouth, and he gasped for breath as he recovered from the surprise assault. Hermione had moved in between Harry and Snape in case Harry lost control again, but soon she knew that her friend had calmed sufficiently, for the moment. Her back was to the professor, and everyone remained silent for a full minute, as the effect of Harry's explosion sunk in.

Slowly, Hermione turned around, and a steely glare fixed on Snape's face. Snape had recovered enough to be able to stand straight, but still in considerable pain, especially from his jaw which was either broken or severely bruised.

"Professor," carefully spoke Hermione breaking the silence, "I advise you to answer our questions and refrain from other comments. Next time we will not stop Harry. You deserve everything he does to you for the way you have treated him for the last six years. Let's make one thing clear. We do not like you, and we never will like you, whether you are telling the truth or not. You are a sick, despicable person, and nothing you do can change that. For now, you need to understand that we are in control of this interrogation. If you don't want to cooperate, the Order can deal with you however it wants. We won't care."

For the first time, lines of worry creased Snape's eyes, despite his best efforts to regain his air of impassiveness. For the mudblood Granger, Miss Know It All and Follow The Rules, to explicitly authorize another beating by Harry was perhaps more surprising than the attack itself. Any hope of manipulating the teenagers disappeared.

"Answer Harry's question," Ron contributed, "Why did you betray Mr. and Mrs. Potter?"

At first Snape was not sure he could speak from the throbbing jaw, but despite the pain he replied, "I was a death eater. I had not yet changed my loyalties. As you are aware, I heard a prophecy given by Professor Trelawny, and I passed that information on to the dark lord. At the time, I had no knowledge to whom the prophecy referred. Not until later did I learn that the Potters and the Longbottoms were the only possible candidates. For reasons known only to him, the dark lord determined that the Potter's son was the one, and efforts were made to learn the location of the Potter's residence, which was protected by the Fidelius Charm."

Harry stepped towards Snape during this explanation, and Ron moved with him to prevent another round of violence.

"It was at this time that I realized my error, my terrible judgment. I had believed that the dark lord would take steps to preserve purity of blood in the magical world, which was a belief I held dearly at that time. As my knowledge of the dark lord grew, I realized that he was not so much interested in purity of blood as pure domination of the wizarding world, and thereafter the muggle world as well. One does not leave the dark lord's service; you are aware of that. My only options were to hide forever or to serve the dark lord for the rest of my days. I opted to hide, and I sought the assistance of Professor Dumbledore."

The three teenagers listed intently to each word, trying to determine their sincerity and truthfulness. Severus Snape was a devious man, they knew, and nothing could be accepted at face value. But they had succeeded in making him talk. Soon they would conclusively determine his loyalties.

After a grimace of pain, Snape took in another deep breath and continued, "Professor Dumbledore rightfully doubted my sincerity, but he recognized the advantages I could gain for the Order of the Phoenix if I served as a double agent. Initially I was reluctant, but I ultimately determined that this was to be my role, and that it would inevitably result in my death. To answer your question, Mr. Potter, I did not intentionally betray your parents, but I acknowledge that my actions in fact directly contributed to their murders." While Snape had accepted that his actions were wrong, Harry noticed that he did not attempt to offer an apology, for which Harry was thankful, for he could never forgive the man.

"But you were a half blood yourself," noted Harry with disdain, "just as I am. Why on earth would you join someone intent on eliminating all muggle borns and half bloods?"

"My mother was as pure blood as they come, her family among the elite of pure blood families. My father, though a wizard, was muggle born; however, he had managed to hide that fact. My mother thought he was a pure blood from a lesser-known line. Not until years after my birth was the fact of his parentage discovered, by accident I believe though I never learned the details. My mother was irate beyond description; I was eight years old. Within two months, my father had died. I have no doubt that my mother in some way killed him or arranged for her death. She explained to me that in her mind I was a pure blood and should always hold myself out as such."

Snape tried to move his hands to rub his throbbing jaw, but was reminded of his bindings. No one made any move to remove the ropes.

"Perhaps the knowledge of my parentage caused me to embrace the pure-blood cause more zealously. For whatever reason, I felt myself a pure blood, I lived in pure blood circles, attended elite pure blood parties. I took it all for granted. My mother, whom I loathed, was an early supporter of the dark lord, and she expected that I would follow her lead. At first I silently resisted, but in Hogwarts, I delved into the more unknown areas of magic, and I knew that the dark lord would better serve this interest. At Hogwarts I was a pariah, an unpopular afterthought. I was determined not to be considered such again."

Ron, Harry and Hermione looked at each other and nodded. They had heard enough for the moment, and now the test of veracity would be given. Ron opened the drawer of a small mahogany table and removed a vial of clear liquid. Snape's eyes widened as he immediately recognized the veritaserum potion.

"We will now see, Professor, whether or not you are telling the truth," Ron informed the prisoner, holding the vial aloft for Snape to see. "For your sake I hope that you are."

Snape could not mask his nerves now, despite his best efforts.

"Use of veritaserum by individuals is prohibited by law. Only Ministry officials are allowed to administer it under restricted conditions."

Harry let out a piercing laugh but then stared at Snape viciously. "That didn't stop you from threatening me with it, did it. Didn't stop Umbridge from trying it. You yourself gave the potion to Dumbledore to question Moody, or rather Crouch. I didn't see Dumbledore sentenced to Azkaban. We'll take our chances, but we truly appreciate your efforts to steer us away from a life of lawbreaking," Harry mocked sarcastically.

Hermione took the vial and a dropper, and prepared to administer the potion.

"Five drops I think, Hermione," Harry instructed.

"Harry, the normal dose is only two or three drops. Five drops may cause him damage," answered Hermione in a concerned voice.

"That's a chance we'll have to take. The professor himself taught us that some wizards of especially strong will are able to withstand the effects of a normal dose of veritaserum, and that as many as five drops may need to be used." Harry eyed Snape warily and concluded, "In his case, we better use the five drops."

Hermione paused in thought, then nodded her assent. Ron pulled back on Snape's head, but the older man resisted, keeping his mouth tightly closed. After a few moments of struggle, Ron grasped Snape's long oily black hair by the neck and sharply jerked it, causing the head to snap back and the mouth to open involuntarily. Hermione stood on a stool and dripped five drops in the back of Snape's mouth so that he could not avoid swallowing it. They waited a few seconds to allow the potion take effect. Five drops should allow them at least twenty minutes of forced truth from Snape, who now had slightly glazed eyes, evidence that the veritaserum had been absorbed.

The question from Hermione was simple, "Have you lied to us tonight?"

"Yes."

Harry took over, "Are you loyal to the dark lord, Voldemort?"

"Yes."

His heart pounded in his chest. Dumbledore was wrong. Snape fooled him all these years. "Why did you kill Dumbledore?" Harry managed to ask.

"I did not kill Professor Dumbledore. I could not without killing myself." Snape spoke in the slightly monotonous voice of someone under the effects of the truth-telling potion. "Years ago, Professor Dumbledore made me take a Wizard's Vow that I would never kill him or anyone associated with the Order of the Phoenix. He was trying to assure my loyalty, so I took the oath. The dark lord had instructed me to do so, for he did not need to use me for that purpose. My role was to supply him with information regarding Dumbledore and the Order."

"But I saw you use the avada kedavra curse." Harry retorted, stating the obvious, "How did you not kill him?"  
Snape continued as if he had not heard Harry's question, "I had also taken a Wizard's Vow with Narcissa Malfoy that I would help Draco fulfill the task assigned to him by the dark lord, and that if Draco should be unable to complete it, I would complete it for him. However, I was not aware of the specific nature of his assignment, only that he was working on a project in the Room of Requirement. The dark lord had also instructed him to kill Dumbledore if circumstances permitted, but I know that the dark lord did not take that order seriously and assumed that Draco would fail. He was primarily interested in the other project and refused to tell anyone else about it. When I took the vow with Narcissa, I was only aware that Draco was charged with the project, not that he should kill Dumbledore. When I learned of the additional order, I was not sure whether my vow with Narcissa only forced me to help with the project or also to assure the death of Dumbledore."

Professor Snape again winced in pain as he had shifted his weight while speaking. The veritaserum had taken full effect by now, and his black eyes were glazed and he spoke in a deeper monotone.

"When Flitwick informed me of the disturbance in the North Tower, I knew that Draco had somehow completed his project and that death eaters had gained entrance into Hogwarts. I stunned Flitwick and then ran to the tower to make sure that Draco was not harmed, for the dark lord has special plans for him. When I arrived, I saw that Dumbledore was weak and wandless, but Draco clearly was not going to kill him, for he had ample opportunity. The others were waiting for Draco, but when they saw me, as the most senior of the group, I was expected to do the job. I did not know whether I had to kill Dumbledore to fulfill my vow with Narcissa, or whether I must not kill him to fulfill my vow with the headmaster. Either way I could die. We needed to escape as quickly as possible, as unexpectedly members of the Order of the Phoenix were guarding Hogwarts and were closing in on us. There was no time for a considered evaluation of my problem. My hope was that Draco's success with his project in the Room of Requirement fulfilled my vow with Narcissa. I knew that I must appear to kill Dumbledore without actually killing him; otherwise I would die also. Therefore, at the same time I spoke the killing curse, I performed an unspoken stunning spell. By splitting my magical power between two spells, the killing curse did not have sufficient force to kill Dumbledore, or so I hoped. The combined force of the two spells, however, was much greater than I expected, and Dumbledore was thrown out the window, which I did not anticipate. When this occurred, I was sure I would die immediately, for I had caused the headmaster's death, but for reasons I cannot explain, I did not die. There was no time for questions, and I led the others to safety."

As he absorbed the words of the death eater, Harry was filled with sorrow and anger, in equal measures, and he was sorely tempted to begin round two with his fists. For the moment, however, he could not. Veritaserum can only be given once, as it will have diminished effectiveness for several days thereafter if a new dose is given. Thus they needed to cram in their questions now, before Snape regained control of his natural ability to lie.

As far as that went, Harry knew all he needed to know about the events of June. The only relevant fact was that Snape was a liar, was and always had been a death eater, and had somehow fooled Dumbledore for all these years. It was time to move on to more personal matters, as this may be Harry's only chance, for they would soon turn over the death eater to the Order.

"Why did you hate Sirius Black, James Potter and Lily Potter?" Harry did not ask why Snape hated him, as that no longer concerned him.

"We grew up in the same circles. The Blacks and Potters are both elite pure blood families, but the Potters were considered traitors by most of the other families. They did not believe in protecting the purity of wizard blood. The Blacks were at the other extreme, but Sirius always was at odds with his parents and brother. James and he always played together. As a child I spent time with Regulus Black, who though younger than I, shared many of my interests. Regulus and I always were bickering, or worse, with James and Sirius. This intensified at Hogwarts, only it was worse, as James and Sirius were handsome and popular, while I was considered odd and to be avoided. It was a hatred of a lifetime."

Snape's eyes softened slightly, and Harry wondered whether the serum was wearing off, but the death eater continued, "I did not feel the same about Lily Evans, at least not until she paired off and married Potter. Despite the antagonism between Slytherin and Hogwarts, she treated me well, not as an enemy. But she made her decision. She married Potter and defied the dark lord. Her fate was inevitable."

The fire in Harry's gut reignited, and only quick action by Hermione prevented another pummeling.

"We don't have much time, Harry, look at his eyes. Ask him about Regulus." In fact Snape's eyes were losing the glazed look, meaning that they only had perhaps three or four minutes left.

"You ask him," Harry responded, for he did not trust his ability to control his anger. He forced himself to stand next to the unlit fireplace.

Hermione knew she had to get right to the point. "Why was Regulus Black killed?"

"He took something which was of great importance to the dark lord. None of us knew what it was, but the dark lord was in a fury as we have rarely seen. He ordered Regulus' death."

So Snape did not know; he was not the one who helped Regulus.

"Did Regulus have any close friends?" asked Hermione, now grasping at straws.

"Among death eaters, he had none, besides myself. In fact he was always quite unpopular, and many did not believe his dedication to the dark lord. At Hogwarts he was always close to a Ravenclaw from his year; her name was Amelda Barlow. She was a half blood, so he could not allow their friendship to develop further, though I believe that was his desire."

"Do you know what has happened to Amelda Barlow?" Hermione asked quickly, not knowing how much time was left to them.

"I do not know. I did not know her well; she was not in my house or year at Hogwarts. I only recall that she was quite intelligent but not especially pretty. She was not the type of person who made an impression."

Snape answered, but his eyes were now clear, back to the malevolent black that they knew so well. The interrogation was at an end.

"What should we do with him?" Ron asked, appearing as if he would like to have a go at the death eater as well.

"Can you bring Hedwig down for me, Ron?" Harry requested.

While Ron left, Harry quickly wrote a note to Remus:

_**Remus: **_

Come to my home right away. I have a present for you.

Harry did not sign the note; he knew Remus would recognize his handwriting, and he wanted to write as little as possible in case the note was intercepted. The professor remained standing, looking defiant but defeated. He knew that everything had gone wrong.

"Why did you meet me tonight?" Harry asked out of curiosity.

Snape could have lied by this time, but there was no need.

"The dark lord believed your note. He thought that I could reestablish myself in the Order and continue to provide him with information. I disagreed, but the dark lord insisted."

"And you don't disregard Voldemort's orders, do you?" Harry taunted, intentionally emphasizing the dark lord's name to irritate the defeated man. "Looks to me that you were expendable," commented Harry, "since Dumbledore is gone and you can't attend Order meetings anymore. What did Voldemort have to lose by sending you?"

The question was rhetorical, and Snape said nothing. He knew Harry was right; in fact he had known it from the moment Voldemort had ordered him to go. The probability that Harry's letter was a trap was high, and Snape had no intention to come, but the dark lord's knowledge of his headquarters is uncanny, much as Dumbledore seemed to know everything that happened in Hogwarts. The death eater had no choice but to show him the note.

Ron took an ounce of pity on the prisoner and pushed him onto the sofa, hands and legs still bound. The three captors anxiously awaited Lupin so that they could discuss all that they learned, but until he arrived, they spoke little. Harry studied his enemy closely. Snape was thinking furiously, hoping beyond hope that somehow he could escape his fate. The best that could happen, Harry guessed, would be to be turned over to the Ministry and ultimately sent to Azkaban Fortress. Voldemort probably could break his servants out of the prison whenever he desired. But Harry was sure that the Order would not yet turn him over to the Ministry, which was in a state of crisis. No, Remus would take him to a secret, secure location, where Snape would be mined for information.

"It's our choices that define us," recited Harry, remembering the words of his mentor, Albus Dumbledore, "What do you think of your choices now, Professor?" Snape remained silent.

Remus arrived about two hours after Hedwig departed, bursting through the fireplace gracefully. "Harry, what's the problem, I came as fast as . . . ." He saw the man on the sofa.

"There's your present, Remus, all wrapped and ready for delivery," Harry said with a smirk. The smile immediately left his face as he added, "He's yours now. We've asked our questions. He's a death eater, Remus. Dumbledore was wrong. He's been spying against the Order since day one."

Ron and Hermione failed to suppress smiles at Remus, who stood stunned. Remus, however, did not smile and glared at his long-time enemy. Thinking back, he asked Harry, "But what about Dumbledore's letter to you, what you told us before?"

"I told you, Dumbledore was wrong. Snape has fooled him all these years," Harry bitterly replied. The thought of doing such a thing to a great and good man like Dumbledore was beyond his comprehension.

"How do you know, Harry? How can you be sure?" Remus asked. In his experience, Dumbledore was usually right about people, and he had assured Remus countless times of Snape's loyalty.

Harry looked over to Hermione and nodded his head. Hermione held up the vial of veritaserum.

"Where did you get that?" Remus asked but then thought better of it, "No, I don't want to know. So you are sure? Completely sure?"

"Completely," replied Harry, and Ron and Hermione also murmured their agreement.

"We questioned him without the potion first, when he didn't know we had it" Hermione explained, "then we gave it to him. Remus, he had lied about almost everything. He admitted to being a death eater, to being loyal to Voldemort, to deceiving Dumbledore. You can give him more veritaserum in a couple of days and find out all you want."

"Don't worry, we most definitely will," growled Remus, now glaring at his former colleague with hatred.

"How did you guys capture him?" the werewolf asked.  
The three captors looked at each other, and finally Harry responded, "Perhaps it's better if you don't ask."

Remus smiled. "Ask what? I already forgot."

They all chuckled briefly before returning their gaze to the subject at hand. "What are you going to do with him?" asked Ron.

Remus turned to Ron and repeated Harry's line, "Perhaps it's better if you don't ask."

A/N: I do not know if Snape will end up good or bad in book 7, but for purposes of my story, he had to be bad. For all of you Snape defenders out their, I offer my apologies


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

So Much Pressure

"**RETURN TO HOGWARTS" SAYS HARRY POTTER**

"**The Boy who Lived," Harry Potter, encouraged students of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry to return to the school for the new term, which begins September first. Mr. Potter was spotted on Diagon Alley shopping for his school supplies. As the Prophet has previously reported, Mr. Potter has decided to return to Hogwarts for his seventh and final year, despite the death of Headmaster Albus Dumbledore in June. Mr. Potter is rumored to have had an especially close relationship with Dumbledore, and it was unclear whether he would return for the new term. **

Many students have decided not to return to the institution due to safety concerns. While the interim headmistress, Minerva McGonagall, has assured the public of the safety of the school, not all new or returning students are convinced. The Prophet has learned that currently far less than fifty percent of last year's students plan to return.

Mr. Potter, however, clearly stated his belief that students should return to the castle in an unplanned speech given to approximately 150 shoppers who crowded around "The Chosen One" when news of his presence spread. Initially attempting to step through the crowd to begin his shopping, Mr. Potter found this to be impossible, as the enthusiastic crowd continued to detain him with words of support and encouragement. Finally Mr. Potter determined that he would say a few words to the crowd in order to satisfy it.

Initially thanking the crowd for its support, Mr. Potter went on to state, "I realize that many students may not be returning to Hogwarts, and I understand their fear. I would just like to say, that I would encourage all entering and returning students to come back to Hogwarts. We must not allow our lives to be controlled by fear. I know that we must be cautious, and I am satisfied that Hogwarts has taken all appropriate measures to ensure the safety of the school as far as possible. No place is perfectly safe, especially your own homes, but I believe that Hogwarts will be as safe a place as any. If a large portion of the student body should refuse to return, then (He Who Must Not Be Named) will have won a significant victory." The crowd received these remarks with enthusiastic applause.

It should be noted that Mr. Potter said the name of He Who Must Not Be Named without fear or hesitation, shocking and impressing many in the crowd. More than one onlooker stated that Mr. Potter reminded them of Professor Albus Dumbledore, who also spoke the dark lord's name routinely and without fear. This reporter heard several witches reconsidering their decision not to send their children to Hogwarts this year.

Harry flipped the Daily Prophet on to the kitchen table and continued with his late breakfast. After the exhausting overnight adventure with Professor Snape, Harry, Ron and Hermione found places to sleep, and did not awaken until late morning. Hermione had received her copy of the newspaper, which each of them read in turn.

"Should have mentioned that you are Head Girl," complained Harry, directing his attention to the eggs and sausage prepared by Dobby.

Ron finished reading and also tossed the paper aside, commenting, "I bet quite a few students will change their mind because of this."

"Don't be daft," Harry scoffed, "Who cares whether I'm going back or not. People will make their own decisions."

"We'll see, Harry," chuckled Ron, "I know a lot more about how wizards and witches think than you do."

The two boys heard a humph come from the direction of Hermione whose bushy morning hair peaked out from behind the Daily Prophet.

"Oh, that's just great!" she complained under her breath.

"What?" the two males asked simultaneously.

Hermione peered over the top of the Prophet and realized that she had spoken aloud. Reluctantly she folded the newspaper to the portion she was reading and set it in front of them. Immediately they saw the photograph of Harry and Hermione smiling at each other taken after Hermione had conjured the box on which Harry stood. Taken out of context, the two in the photo looked for all the world like more than mere friends. Below the picture ran the headline in the gossip section of the paper: **THE CHOSEN ONE'S CHOSEN ONE?** Harry saw that Hermione was rather put out by the unwanted attention, but he could only laugh.

"Well, you have to admit, that's a pretty clever headline: 'The Chosen One's Chosen One?' That's really quite good." Harry and Ron both looked at the frown on Hermione's face, which combined with the uncontrolled bushiness of her shoulder-length brown hair soon proved too much for them to take. They first broke into a chuckle, glanced at each other, and soon laughed so hard that Hermione could not help but smile and laugh along, even if not as enthusiastically.

"You may not think it's so funny when you read what they wrote," Hermione commented as the laughter died down, "Here."

Ron snatched the paper and read aloud: **"This photograph was taken at the impromptu appearance of Harry Potter at Diagon Alley yesterday (see page 1 for details). The subject of Harry's amorous eyes is none other than Miss Hermione Granger, long rumored to be Harry's significant other. Miss Granger, Harry announced with evident pride, has been appointed to the prestigious position of Head Girl at Hogwarts. In the Spring, readers will recall, The Chosen One was reported to have won the affections of one Ginny Weasley, daughter of Ministry official, Arthur Weasley. Apparently as the seasons change, so do Harry's girlfriends. Oh to be young again!"**

The smile had in fact left Harry's face, but after giving the matter consideration for several seconds, he simply could not bring himself to worry about it.

"Oh well, it could have been worse," he said off-handedly, "At least it mentioned that you are Head Girl. I thought the other article should have included that." Glancing at the photograph again, he added, "And it's really not a bad picture of us."

Hermione stared at Harry as if he had finally lost his mind, asking, "What about Ginny, Harry? She reads the Prophet; she's going to see this."

Harry shrugged his shoulder and responded, "What about her?" Seeing Hermione's expression turn even more disbelieving, Harry explained more seriously, "Look, Ginny gave me an ultimatum that she shouldn't have. Now she has to live with the consequences. I have more serious things to worry about than that."

Ron shifted uncomfortably in his chair as the others spoke about his sister and at the realization that the wizarding world now believed that Harry and Hermione were boyfriend and girlfriend. Even if he knew this not to be true, it still unsettled him.

"Look," Hermione exclaimed, bringing that topic to an end, "it's already late and I need to go home soon. What my mum would say if she knew I stayed alone in a house with two boys? I don't even want to imagine."

"We are upstanding boys, at least," joked Harry.

"And we're both tall and reasonably good looking," Ron chimed in.

"I'm rich and famous, and Ron has lots of connections in the magical world. We have our qualities." Harry and Ron laughed again at their inspired silliness (at least they thought it inspired).

"Yes, yes, you both have your qualities," Hermione huffed with a smile, "and you'd both have flunked out of Hogwarts if I hadn't let you copy my work."

"And would you have wanted that on your conscience, Hermione?" Ron asked with a horrified expression, giving his best Fred and George impersonation.

"Enough already!" Hermione shouted laughingly, "I really have to go soon. What are we going to do now? You know what I mean."

Harry wished that he could simply forget about it all, at least for a day, but inevitably, reality returned.

"I think we need to find Amelda Barlow," Harry suggested, "Snape didn't help us much with the Regulus Black thing. Barlow may not know anything, but she's the only lead we have for the moment."

Remus Lupin and Harry sat at the kitchen table eating some pastries provided by Dobby and sipping their tea. They had managed to avoid discussing anything of importance for a good five minutes, trying to remember a time when every decision they made did not have life or death consequences. Harry knew already that Remus and Kingsley Shacklebolt had been designated as joint leaders of the Order of the Phoenix. Remus had managed to stop by each day since Snape's capture, even if only for a few minutes, and Harry knew that the situation with the Order had gradually improved. Finally their enjoyable chat gave way to more important affairs.

"Have you found anything about Amelda Barlow?" Harry asked. He had previously consulted with Remus in this regard, though he did not explain the reason he needed to find her. Remus recalled the name but could not picture her at all and as far as he knew had never exchanged a word with her.

"Nobody in the Order knew her, though a few recalled the name," Remus answered, "It seems that everyone in the Order either attended Hogwarts before or after Barlow and Regulus. McGonagall remembered her a little, but has no idea what became of her. I have someone checking on it. We'll find someone from that Ravenclaw class and see what comes of it. If that doesn't get us anywhere, we'll do some snooping at the Ministry, but we like to keep that to a minimum if possible. How important is this, Harry?"

"Could be extremely important, or could be a dead end," Harry responded, "but either way we need to know. I really appreciate your help."

"I don't know how you guys did it, but capturing Snape has been a huge morale booster for the Order," Remus commented, reciprocating Harry's appreciation, "We just can't figure out why Voldemort is holding back. So far Snape has said nothing about it, and we haven't resorted to more, shall we say, creative interrogation methods. We can have another round with the veritaserum in a day or so."

Harry nodded and grabbed another pastry from the exquisitely carved silver platter on the table. He looked at the platter more closely and sighed.

"I guess Mundungus missed this one. Pretty much cleaned out most of the silver, not that I really wanted it, but it does upset me when I think about it. Is he still in Azkaban?"

"Yes, and we are going to leave him there for now." Remus informed him, "Actually we have a lot of the items Dung stole; he hadn't been able to sell much of it. To tell you the truth, I had forgotten all about it. Other things on my mind, you know. I'll have someone dig it up, and I'll bring it by sometime.

Harry was pleasantly surprised by this news, as he had written off the treasures stolen by Mundungus Fletcher as gone forever.

The next morning Hermione and Ron arrived in the late morning, and as usual Hermione provided her copy of the Prophet.

"Look at this," she exclaimed excitedly, handing the newspaper to Harry. Both Harry and Ron noticed how nice she looked that morning, with her brown hair under control and pulled back, make-up on, and dressed in a slightly revealing tight-fitting red blouse and even tighter-fitting black jeans. The two boys glanced at each other briefly but made no comment. Harry looked at the headline.

**HOGWARTS ENROLMENTS INCREASE DRAMATICALLY**

In response to the Prophet's inquiry, representatives of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry have reported a surge in re-enrolments and new enrolments for the new term, which begins in two days. One week ago, it appeared that a mere forty percent of students enrolled last year were planning to return, while the incoming class promised to be the smallest in memory. As the Prophet has reported throughout the summer, many students and their families have expressed concern at the security of Hogwarts Castle following the death of the respected and magically powerful headmaster, Albus Dumbledore.

The sudden and late increase in enrolment appears entirely due to the words of Harry Potter, "The Boy Who Lived," reported in the Prophet earlier this week. As the reader will recall, Mr. Potter addressed a crowd of onlookers at Diagon Alley and took the opportunity to encourage students to return to the school, just as he has elected to return for his seventh year. Interim headmistress, Minerva McGonagall now estimates that between seventy and eighty percent of last year's class will return, and the incoming class will amount to roughly seventy percent of normal.

"That's incredible!" Harry exclaimed, shaking his head in disbelief, "That's ridiculous! That's incredible AND ridiculous!"

Ron laughed. "I told you I knew how witches and wizards think. Looks like you saved Hogwarts."

"I don't know why either, Harry. People should be able to make up their own minds," Hermione opined, her eyebrow raised, "but this time, it's all for the best, isn't it? I mean, if only forty percent returned, the castle would have been empty. There's still going to be a lot of extra elbow room."  
"I wonder who's not coming back?" Ron mumbled through the left-over breakfast roll he was munching, "I'm sure Padma and Parvati won't. Their parents wanted to take them out last term."

"You're probably right, though I think most of the Gryffindors will return," Hermione guessed, "but I bet there won't be any Slytherins, or only one or two. What's wrong Harry?"

While Ron and Hermione had been discussing Hogwarts' enrolment, Harry still focused on the fact that so many people seemed to place such importance on his words. Suddenly an extra pressure weighed down on his shoulders, and his green eyes squinted. So many people depending on him. So much disappointment when he inevitably fails. The only solace Harry could find was that he would be dead and not have to witness it.

Ron and Hermione waited for him to say something. He looked at them, and they saw fear in his eyes - fear of failure.

"There's just so much pressure. All these people. . . ." Harry muttered as he waved a hand at the Daily Prophet strewn on the kitchen table. He threw himself into a chair, and slumped down.

For once Hermione could not think of anything to say. All the pressure was on Harry. Nobody would remember Ron or her if they failed; the history books would record the tragic failure of Harry Potter. Ron and she would be nothing more than footnotes. She glanced at Ron and they shared a knowing look. They both worried about Harry, and when he was not with them, they discussed it freely and often. Something had changed in Harry, first after Dumbledore's death, and then after destroying the horcrux in the museum. He seemed in a good enough mood, at least on the exterior, but something was missing. His vibrant green eyes had dulled a shade. Now she knew at least part of the cause. So much pressure.

Ron finally broke the silence, "You can't worry about them, Harry. They don't know anything. We can only do our best and then see what happens."

"This isn't a quidditch game, Ron," Harry snapped, "If I fail, everyone dies. That's a little different from losing the Quidditch Cup. Why do they all look to me? They don't know about the prophecy. All they know is that Voldemort tried to kill me when I was a baby and left me this stupid scar." Harry brushed his hair away to reveal his most famous feature.

"They know a lot more than that, Harry," Hermione countered, concern glistening in her eyes, "They know that you were there when Voldemort returned. They know that you were telling the truth even when everyone made you out to be crazy, even when the Ministry tried to discredit you. They know that you won the TriWizard Cup even though you were underage. Now they know that you can say the name, Voldemort, without any effort at all, not like the rest of us. You are a great wizard! You can't pretend that you are not. We all can see it. We can feel it."

"All I see is a crowd of disappointed faces as they look at my dead body," Harry shot back, pessimism dripping from his voice, "Is that what being a great wizard means?" Harry felt like bolting from the room, but something kept him in his seat, waiting to hear Hermione's counter argument.

But it was Ron who spoke, "Yes, if that's what happens. You are DOING something, Harry, while everyone else sits in their homes, placing wards and spells on their houses hoping that nobody comes their way. Only a few of us are actually doing anything, and you are doing more than anyone." Ron voice was strong and blunt, the way only a best friend can speak. "You killed that horcrux, and I know that when we find another, you'll kill that one too. That's what being a great wizard is, Harry, not what a bunch of cowards hiding in their houses think."

Harry found himself quite impressed by Ron's words, despite his bout of self-pity.

"All right, I know I'm being dramatic, but I'm just not used to this. All my life I was a nobody, and I hated it. Now I'm so bloody important and I'm 'somebody,' and I hate that too. We still have so far to go; it's like climbing a mountain that never ends. And in two days we go to Hogwarts, and I don't even want to go, but now I'm some hero who told everyone to come back to school. Maybe I was stupid saying what I did at Diagon Alley. I'm not so sure the castle is safe; what if something happens? What if some kids are killed? It will be on my head."

"It's not all about you, Harry," Hermione reminded him, "A lot of people are in the battle, Ron and I, everyone in the Order, even a lot of people in the Ministry. We either win together or we fail together. Let us share the burden."

Harry eyed Hermione up and down and a smile came to his lips.

"OK, but on one condition. You have to tell us who the lucky bloke is."

"What are you talking about?" a confused Hermione asked.

"I don't know a lot about girls, that's for sure, but I know when a girl fixes her hair, puts on make-up, and wears clothes so tight she needs a shoehorn, there must me some boy involved," explained Harry with a sly grin.

Ron wished to lighten the mood as well, so he added, "That's right, Hermione, I know you think that we are completely brain-dead, but even we noticed that you're all dressed up today. So who's the lucky fellow?"

"Just because I decided to look nice today doesn't mean I'm going out with a boy," Hermione huffed, "and it's not any of your business anyway."

"Why don't you ever get dressed up for us and fix your hair. Aren't we worthy?" Harry teased, trying to egg her on. Getting Hermione riled was one of their favorite pastimes.

"Well, why should I go through that trouble for you two? You see me all the time anyway."

"Right you are," Ron agreed, "but that means you are seeing a boy today. What's the occasion?"  
Hermione shook her head and frowned, but deep down enjoyed the attention of her best friends, who seemed to be showing just a hint of jealousy.

"Well, if you must know, I'm going to a birthday party with several of my muggle friends, and I wanted to look nice. I need to be leaving in a few minutes so that my mum can drive me there."

"OK, but who's the boy," Harry insisted, "some old muggle flame?"

"Oh, you two are impossible," ranted Hermione, stomping her foot, but she realized that they knew her as well as she knew them. "There's a boy that I used to like in school before I came to Hogwarts, and I've only seen him a couple of times since. He's going to be at the party, and I thought I'd try to look my best, even if that's not all that great."

Harry and Ron knew that Hermione was fishing for a complement on her appearance, and in fact she did appear quite stunning. Instead of her normal stud earrings, she wore golden loops, and on each wrist she bore golden bracelets, where normally she wore only a functional watch. Harry decided that he had better say the right thing.

"Well, you do look very nice," he confirmed, but then realized that she could infer that she normally did not look nice, so Harry quickly added, "Of course, I always think you look nice, it's just that today you look nicer." He looked pleadingly to Ron to help him out.

"Right," agreed Ron, "we're just not used to seeing you look like this."

"So is that a bad thing?" asked Hermione, enjoying the trouble her friends were having trying to pick the right words.

"No," Harry replied, "as far as I'm concerned, you can dress like this any time you want." Harry reconsidered his words, thinking that Hermione might believe that her normal clothes were shabby, so he again added a caveat, "Of course I think you always dress nice. I mean, you don't have to dress like this all the time, it's just. . . Oh why did I even bring this up?!"

When Harry entered his bedroom the night before he was to leave for Hogwarts, he found that his trunk had already been packed by Dobby. Harry shook his head and checked in a few drawers to assure that nothing had been left behind. As to be expected, everything he needed could be found in the trunk packed as neatly as if his Aunt Petunia, an obsessively neat packer of clothes, had done it. In past years, Harry always suffered the chaos of the Weasleys, whether at the Burrow or at Grimmauld Place, but this time he would be in no rush at all to reach the Hogwarts Express. At ten minutes to eleven in the morning, he would merely walk outside, and when out of view of any muggles, he would apparate to the designated site at Kings Crossing. Apparation was a wonderful thing, even if he hated how it felt, much like many muggles feel about flying in airplanes.

"Dobby," he called, and in a moment the house elf appeared. "Thank you, Dobby, for packing my trunk. You really didn't have to do that for me."

"Dobby likes doing things for Harry Potter. Dobby likes being busy, and there is not much to do in this big house with no people. Packing is easy for a house elf." And to prove his point, Dobby squinted his bulging eyes, waved his hand, and all of the contents of the trunk scattered about the bedroom. With another wave, the clothes, books and sundries immediately flew back in. Harry shook his head in appreciation, knowing that the spell used by wizards to pack lacked the efficiency of a house elf's wave.

"I wanted to talk to you anyway, Dobby. I think you should go to Hogwarts tomorrow. Grimmauld Place will be empty, and you can keep yourself occupied. Also, I may need your help while I am there, and having you in the kitchens with the other house elves can be a great way for me to know what's going on at Hogwarts." Harry quietly added to himself, "I don't think McGonagall will be as forthcoming with me as Dumbledore was."

The house elf clearly felt pleased with this plan.

"Oh yes, Dobby already planned to move to Hogwarts. Dobby thinks Dobby can help Harry Potter, like Dobby did last year when Dobby followed bad master." Harry recalled that Dobby and Kreacher tailed Draco Malfoy for him.

"Also Dobby, there will be times this term when I will be leaving Hogwarts either by myself or with Ron and Hermione. Sometimes I may want you to come too. I want you to be ready at all times."

"Yes, Harry Potter, Dobby will always be ready." Harry had another thought.

"Dobby, remember when we talked about Regulus Black?" Dobby nodded his head. "I know you weren't around here all the time, but do you remember a friend of his called Amelda Barlow?"

"Oh yes, Harry Potter, Dobby remembers Miss Amelda, a good friend of Regulus Black. Dobby liked Miss Amelda, always nice to house elves. Mrs. Black did not like Miss Amelda, not at all."

"Well, if she was nice to house elves, I'm sure Mrs. Black did not approve." Harry commented, "Do you know how we could find her?" The house elf screwed up his eyes .

"The Barlow family was not a rich family, but the Barlow family had one house elf, Lefty. Dobby has not seen Lefty for many years, but Dobby thinks he can find Lefty when Dobby goes to Hogwarts. Other house elves know Lefty."

"Great!" Harry responded with a smile, "I would like you to do that, and let me know as soon as you find Lefty. I need to find and speak to Amelda Barlow."

As he prepared himself for bed, Harry examined himself closely in the mirror. His hair had grown longer and messier than ever. Microscopic worry lines had formed around his eyes, and he needed a shave.

"Tomorrow I go to Hogwarts," he spoke aloud, not the least bit happy about it.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

In These Halls, We Will Resist

Despite the surge in enrolment reported in the Daily Prophet, students could not help but notice the extra space in the Hogwarts Express. When Harry arrived, he moved to take his trunk to the loading area, only to be intercepted by several parents of students anxious to shake his hand and thank him for his remarks in the Prophet. They assured him that they supported him all the way. Harry responded politely if somewhat cooly.

"These are the 'cowards hiding in their houses' that Ron mentioned," he thought.

With Hermione's position as Head Girl and Ron remaining a prefect, and given all of the changes and confusion at Hogwarts this term, Harry's best friends could not join him until late in the journey. Harry walked down the aisle of the train, and could not help but notice the heads that turned with each step. In the past Harry had been reviled and mocked by his school mates, but this time the turned faces betrayed admiration, respect, and even fear.

"This is going to be a long year!" he confided to himself.

Eventually he found Luna Lovegood occupying a compartment by herself, so Harry decided to join her. If anyone in the school would not care one iota about Harry's fame, it was the unique Ravenclaw sixth-year. Harry took a good look at Luna after their greetings, and as was her habit, she stared unflinchingly at Harry. She really was not an unattractive girl, Harry mused, though her choice of attire did not fit Harry's more conservative attitude. She looked every bit the hippy bohemian this day, with a long gypsy-style skirt and lots of beads around her neck (but no butterbeer caps). If Harry had ever heard of the group, he would have said that she belonged at a Grateful Dead concert.

"I read about you in the Prophet," Luna mentioned matter-of-factly, fingering the beads around her neck, "I wish you would have given the interview to the Quibbler." Luna's father, as Harry well knew, was the owner and editor of the Quibbler, a magazine devoted to the fringes of the magical world.

"It wasn't an interview," Harry defended himself, though Luna did not look the least bit upset, "I was surrounded by a hundred people, and I had to say something. Nothing was planned; it just happened." The young wizard flicked a lock of hair out of his eye, momentarily exposing his scar.

"Yes, that's what I figured," Luna acknowledged, "but my father could have used the interview anyway. Circulation's been down over the summer." She pulled several strands of her blond hair from her neck. Harry noticed that her hair had grown a few inches since he last saw her. It looked nice.

"Oh, sorry to hear that," Harry sympathized, and he truly was, as he had a soft spot in his heart for the Quibbler for agreeing to publish his interview in fifth year when he was a pariah in the magical world, not the "hero" that he had become.

"I hear that Ginny and you are no longer going together," Luna commented, unconcerned as to whether Harry might not want to discuss such a sensitive topic. But for some reason, Harry felt he could discuss certain matters with Luna that he would not with others. Luna always had a unique perspective on things which Harry found helpful.

"Yeah, that's right. How did you find out?" Harry inquired.

"Harry, you should know that word about things like that travels like wildfire. Everyone knew about it within a day of Dumbledore's funeral. I thought you might get together again over the summer. I'm sure Ginny wanted to." Luna explained. She had been fiddling around with various items from her bag, but now Luna set everything aside and stared intently at the young man in front of her.

"You're right, she did want to, but I really can't be with anyone right now," Harry replied, trying to choose his words carefully, "My life is kind of complicated right now."

Luna nodded in understanding, "I'm sure it is, having to kill You Know Who and all. It must be a terrible burden."

Harry was shocked so completely by Luna's statement, that for several moments his brain ceased functioning. Finally he managed to put words to a question.

"Why do you say that?" He knew Luna did not know the prophecy, and she was not the type of person to believe the hype printed in the Daily Prophet.

"Well, it's pretty obvious, isn't it. You Know Who wants you dead and hasn't had any luck yet." Luna spoke with such dispassion that Harry almost felt that she was referring to another person, not himself. "He must have a good reason for wanting to kill you. I guessing that the prophecy that broke in the Department of Mysteries was about that somehow. The Ministry may have a copy of it. It's probably being suppressed. Maybe you could take legal action to learn what it says. You have the right, you know, to hear any prophecy about yourself, now that you are of age." Luna shifted slightly in her seat, adjusting the beads around her neck.

Harry sat dumbfounded at how Luna's logic, while unfathomable, essentially landed right on the mark. Still, he could not just come out and confirm her educated guessing. Instead he decided to change the subject.

"Well, Voldemort being after me is one of the complicating factors, that's true. But there's a lot of other stuff too. Like not being able to go anywhere without being mobbed by a bunch of witches."

Luna nodded sympathetically, as if she faced the same problem. Of course for Luna the opposite was true; most people tried to avoid her.  
"That must be very irritating," she surmised, "but I'm afraid you may not find Hogwarts much of a relief."

"Why is that?"

"I know that many of the girls are quite taken with you, Harry, and now that you are not with Ginny, well, you could say it is open season." Luna looked out the window while saying this, gazing at the rolling fields of northern England, where black and white cattle grazed without a care in the world.

Harry pursed his lips and considered Luna's remark, but he did not feel too worried.

"I kind of went through that last year. It will all pass over after a while."

"Maybe, but I happen to know that there are a lot of girls who are very fond of you. I must admit that I'm quite fond of you too. Why wouldn't I be?" Luna asked, apparently finding nothing unusual about describing her heretofore unknown feelings for a boy with the very boy in question.

Harry was not quite sure he heard her correctly, but Luna continued without hesitation, "You have always been quite nice to me, unlike most boys, for whom I am a bit too unusual. Add to that the fact that you are tall, dark and handsome, and that you have an interesting history, why wouldn't I like you?"

How does a person respond to something so bizarre? Harry liked Luna quite a lot, but certainly not in the sense of her being his girlfriend. In most respects, Harry was not an eccentric person, in fact quite the opposite. But sitting opposite him in the compartment, declaring her affections for him, was the most eccentric person he had ever known. He shifted nervously in his seat.

"Uh, that's very nice of you to say, Luna. But like I said, my life is quite complicated right now. I really cannot be thinking about things like that."

"Oh don't worry, Harry, I know that you would never like me in that way. I'm far too odd for you. Despite all the strange things which have happened to you, you really are a very nice, normal, boring person."

Harry gave Luna the widest grin he had given anyone since Dumbledore's death. How could he not enjoy speaking to a person who was so brutally honest, both with others and with herself.

"You are an incredible person, Luna. I'm really glad that I know you. Somehow after I talk to you, I see things more clearly."

While the two friends conversed, Harry vaguely noticed that many students passed by the glass door to their compartment, stopping to ogle Harry. None of them, fortunately, had the courage to open the door to interrupt. Another group of girls passed by, and from the corner of his eye, Harry knew that Ginny was among them. He turned to look, but Ginny apparently had not seen him. Another girl in her group did notice, however, and Ginny stopped to look in as well. Upon seeing Harry, she initially displayed no emotion, but then gave a thin smile and a wave. Relieved that at least she showed no sign of hostility, Harry returned the greeting. Ginny and her pack moved on.

"I knew you two would break up eventually," Luna commented, taking in the scene.

"Really?" Harry asked, "Why is that?" He truly was interested in her opinion on the matter.

"Well, you know that I like Ginny very much. She has always been nice to me, even when others in my year have not. But she is not patient. I think any girl who is going to be your girlfriend will need to have a lot of patience. The same was true of the Chinese girl who liked you before. What was her name?"

"Cho Chang. She was in Ravenclaw too."

"Yes, now I remember. Cried all the time. First after Cedric Diggory died and then about you, though I don't know what happened to cause it. But she was not a patient person," Luna declared with certainty. She had pulled a brush out of her bag for her long hair.

"You're right about that. Cho and I were a disaster," Harry recalled, watching the young witch brush her hair, "Actually I like Ginny a lot, but you are right, she is not patient. She tried to force me to get back together this summer, when she should know that I can't. Not now."

Suddenly, Harry felt much better about how he handled Ginny's August ultimatum. Luna made sense; any girlfriend of his would have to have tons of patience, and Ginny was not that person, at least not now. He wondered who that person might be, or whether such a person even existed.

As the students entered the Great Hall of Hogwarts Castle, everyone wrenched their necks to determine who had returned and who had not. The Gryffindor table had not changed appreciably from previous years, though a few empty spaces were noted. Parvati Patil as expected did not return, nor did her Ravenclaw twin Padma. To Ron's relief, Lavender Brown also counted among the missing. Otherwise everyone in their year returned.The glaring absence stuck out unavoidably at the Slytherin tables, where only five students sat. No Malfoy, no Goyle, no Crabbe, no Zabini, no Parkinson. Harry did not recognize any of the remaining Slytherins, and no seventh year Slytherin returned.

As they gazed at the nearly empty table, Harry turned to Ron and Hermione and commented, "You really have to admire those five. It must have been difficult to return."

"At least they'll have plenty of room in their dormitories," rationalized Ron, "Each of them can have their own room."

"Can't say I'll miss them," Harry mused, "but it just doesn't seem right somehow."

"I know what you mean. A thousand years of Hogwarts history out the window," Hermione expressed with a hint of sadness. Her Head Girl badge reflected the candle light. "For all practical purposes, Hogwarts now has three houses instead of four. The five Slytherins will be grouped with Hufflepuff for all of their classes. Other than sleeping in their dormitories, being a Slytherin will mean nothing."

The half-giant Hagrid led in the first-years, and murmurs immediately rumbled through the hall at the noticeably smaller incoming class, though a decent number lined up at the door. Professor McGonagall, who had never appreciated the opening poems of the sorting hat, apparently put an end to that tradition, as the sorting began without delay. Only one new student entered Slytherin.

When at last Professor McGonagall stood, the hall immediately silenced, for the students anxiously wanted to hear from the new headmistress, given the events of the past months. McGonagall paused a few moments, unnecessarily, to allow the noise to die down. All eyes gazed upon her, and she surveyed the remnants of the Hogwarts student body.

"Welcome all of you to Hogwarts. It is my sincere hope and expectation that this term at Hogwarts will be a successful one, despite the formidable obstacles facing us. But firstly I must thank all of you for returning to or enrolling for the first time in Hogwarts. You will have noticed that a number of familiar faces are absent today, and I most certainly respect the decisions of those students and their families. However, my colleagues and I believe with all of our hearts in the value of a Hogwarts education, and I applaud each of you who has decided to return to this castle during this time of uncertainty." She paused a moment, perhaps expecting applause, but the Great Hall remained completely silent.

McGonagall waved her hand in reference to Hogwarts Castle, and proceeded, "This school has opened on September first of each year for more than one thousand years, and the thought that it might not have opened on this September first is one I did not allow myself to consider. Yet many problems did face us, most importantly the matter of security. As many of you know, Professor Dumbledore placed many protective wards on this castle, and his tragic demise left the status of these wards in question. I am pleased to report, however, that these wards remain in place, despite the fact that according to common knowledge, some of them should have disappeared with the passing of the headmaster. As we all know, Professor Dumbledore was an especially great wizard and man, his mastery of magic unmatched. Somehow he arranged for these formidable wards to remain. While no place is completely secure in these times, Hogwarts is one of the safest places in the world."

"Now is not the time to discuss specifics of your schedules. You will learn over the next days of certain adjustments to what has been customary in the past, but I am confident that these adjustments will not be difficult. Unfortunately, due to security concerns, we no longer are able to allow Hogsmeade visits, though we are attempting to determine if visits by small groups can be arranged. Moreover, due both to security concerns and a drop in enrollment," her eyes involuntary scanned the Slytherin table, "no organized quidditch will be played this year. Again, we will make every attempt to allow informal games for those of you who love the sport."

If McGonagall expected groans at these last points, she was surprised, for the assembly remained silent. No doubt the students had already guessed at these measures and for once did not hold them against the Hogwarts administration. They also realized the difficult position of the new headmistress and did not want to burden her further with complaints. The fact that the Slytherin house had virtually disappeared doubtlessly contributed to the good manners.

After reviewing more routine security measures, Professor McGonagall paused one last time before concluding. The headmistress was a witch of conventions, not one to create trends or cause ripples. Certainly she had never uttered the name of You Know Who in a public address. Thus her concluding comments especially jarred the Hogwarts student body.

"Let us all realize that we live in a time of great danger. Lord Vol . . . Voldemort is alive and seeking to impose his warped version of magic upon the magical world. Let it be known that in these halls, we will resist! In these halls, all wizards and witches shall be treated equally, pure-blood, half-blood, muggle-born; it matters not! Discrimination based on blood shall not be tolerated! Now more than ever, we must unite and cooperate."

Harry felt quite impressed that the headmistress pronounced the words "Lord Voldemort" instead of the euphemism, though she stumbled slightly when pronouncing them. Nevertheless, the effort showed how seriously she felt about taking a stand, and the clarity with which she denounced the purity-of-blood debate encouraged him. Yet all in all, Harry found it hard to care about any of this. Yes, he was back at Hogwarts, but in body only. His spirit was elsewhere, and he wished his body was too.

At about 10:30 pm, Hermione stepped through the portrait hole into the Gryffindor common room, completely exhausted. Harry and Ron sat up waiting for her, and she smiled her appreciation, as she dropped into her favorite comfortable chair by the fire which they had saved for her, her bag falling to the floor. She took a couple of pins from her hair and let it shake free.

"I hope every day isn't as tiring as this one," she pleaded.

"What's been going on?" Ron asked.

"Well, we had the prefects meeting, as you know, and then I had to meet with McGonagall in her office with several teachers. She calls it her 'Executive Committee.' She plans on having a meeting about once a week, at least for the first few months. Ernie and I are supposed to attend as representatives of the students."

Ernie McMillan of Hufflefuff had been named Head Boy. Not an inspired choice, Harry considered, but he could not think of anyone better.

"Any big news?" Harry inquired, as he cared little about the normal ins and outs of running the school.

"Well, there's no DADA teacher yet. To begin with, aurors from the Ministry will fill in. Slughorn has not returned, so there is a new potions master, a woman. Can't remember her name right now." Hermione yawned and shifted in her comfortable chair next to the relaxing warmth of the fire. "Flitwick is back for Charms, but McGonagall can't do Transfiguration, so there is a new teacher there too."

This was not what Harry wanted to know.

"I meant, is there any 'big' news, like threats from Voldemort."

"Oh," Hermione muttered as she bent her legs under her, "Only one unusual matter. McGonagall mentioned it at dinner. They can't figure out why some of the wards are still in tact, as they definitely were tied directly to Dumbledore. They should have ended when he died, but they have checked several times, and the wards are still in effect. Apparently because his body is buried here, the wards somehow have remained, but nobody knows how. Of course, we're not complaining, but McGonagall is worried that the wards will suddenly fall. I guess that's why Voldemort hasn't tried to attack."

They looked at each other with puzzled expressions, until Hermione finally could stand it no longer, and excused herself to head for her bed. Just as her feet touched the floor, with a soft pop Dobby arrived.

"Harry Potter, sir, Dobby has good news. Dobby found Amelda Barlow. Dobby knows where Amelda Barlow lives."

"Great!" Harry exclaimed, "Where?"

"Amelda Barlow lives in Romania."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Just as Deep the Other Way

A funny thing happened to Harry during his first week of classes. So absorbed was he in the news of Amelda Barlow and how best to meet with her, that he hardly paid attention at all to classes and studies. Yet he performed better than ever, casting new spells and charms with little or no difficulty.

Ron mildly resented Harry's new-found talent, which unlike his tainted achievements the previous year in Potions (due to the Half Blood Prince's notes), appeared to be legitimate. In the past, Ron could take comfort in the fact that Harry was as mediocre a student as he. Hermione observed Harry's unusually excellent performance with less surprise and no resentment. Throughout Harry's six years at Hogwarts, Hermione knew that he had more raw magical gifts than she or anyone else in school. Conjuring a patronus as a third year convinced her, as nobody else in school even now could conjure a decent patronus. Harry's patronus from across the lake - well, that is the stuff of great wizards.

When his friends asked about his sudden academic success, Harry merely shrugged his shoulders and returned to the matter at hand, Amelda Barlow. Dobby learned that Amelda's old house elf, Lefty, currently lived with Amelda's older brother in Wales. Lefty told Dobby that Amelda had moved to Romania years before, but Lefty did not know where she lived or what she did there. She visited her brother in Wales occasionally, but the siblings did not have an especially close relationship.

The three friends immediately discussed how best to go about arranging a meeting with Ms. Barlow, and they decided first to contact Ron's brother, Charley, who lived in Romania. Unfortunately his return owl indicated that he knew nothing of an Amelda Barlow. They disagreed as to the best manner to go about plan two, contacting her brother in Wales.

"We can't just owl him from out of nowhere and ask, where's your sister, we need to talk to her," Ron argued reasonably to Harry's initial suggestion, "People are too nervous now days. He's going to think we're up to no good."

"Ron's right," Hermione nodded, half listening and half reviewing a Charms essay, "but we can't just show up on their doorstep either. They might hex us."

"But I am 'Harry Potter, The Chosen One' and all that rubbish," Harry argued, his essay forgotten by his side, "They're not going to throw us out. I'm sure they'd let us explain."

After two days of off-and-on deliberations, they agreed on a plan. Harry wrote a note to Ms. Barlow's brother, Richard Barlow, and sent it with Dobby. Dobby would meet Lefty, and then Lefty would present Dobby to Mr. Barlow, personally presenting the note and assuring him that Harry Potter needed to speak with him.

In the event Mr. Barlow did not believe that Harry Potter, of all people, wanted to speak to him, then Dobby could offer to take Lefty with him to Hogwarts to verify it. Mr. Barlow found this to be acceptable, and less than an hour after Dobby had left, he returned with Lefty at his side to an unused classroom where Harry waited.

Quite large for a house elf, Lefty stood at least six inches taller than Dobby, and he appeared to be less excitable. Though a slave, the elf wore a clean and new uniform. Harry determined quickly that the Barlows treated Lefty well, and in fact he appeared to be fit and in good health.

"You must be Lefty," Harry greeted the elf, extending his hand in greeting. Lefty jumped slightly, shocked by this gesture, as almost certainly no wizard had ever offered to shake his hand before, and in fact as house elves did not shake hands among themselves, he probably had never shaken hands with anyone in his life.

Dobby immediately understood Lefty's confusion, and assured him, "Harry Potter is a great wizard. Harry Potter likes house elves, and does not think house elves are stupid. Lefty can shake the hand of Harry Potter."

With great solemnity, Lefty extended his right hand, which though large for a house elf still only measured half of Harry's, and Harry gently grasped it.

"I am extremely pleased to meet you, Lefty," Harry said, and then let go of the elf's hand.

Lefty looked up at Harry and replied, "Master tells Lefty, make sure Harry Potter wrote the note. Look at Harry Potter's scar, Master says."

Harry immediately pulled his twisted black hair to reveal his forehead, and the telltale scar became visible. Lefty recognized it immediately, for house elves knew of Harry Potter as well as wizards.

"I wrote the note to Mr. Barlow, Lefty, and I very much need to speak with him. It's with regard to his sister, Amelda Barlow. Please assure Mr. Barlow that so far as we know, Ms. Barlow is fine, but I need to be able to speak with her. It's very important."

Lefty nodded and answered, "Lefty will tell master." He took a step preparing to leave but could not before saying one last thing, "Dobby tells Lefty that Harry Potter is a great wizard. Harry Potter shakes Lefty's hand. Thank you Harry Potter."

"You're very welcome, Lefty, and I should be the one to thank you. Please take Dobby and return to Mr. Barlow." A realization came to Harry, he had never been to Wales, at least as an adult, and could not apparate there. He turned to Dobby and asked, "Dobby, if Mr. Barlow agrees to speak with me, can you apparate me to his house, because I can't without having seen it before."

"No Harry Potter, house elves apparate differently from wizards. House elf can take wizard along, but the wizard will die. Wizards are not able to take house elf, or house elf will die." Harry took this to mean that house elf magic was not compatible with wizard's.

"OK, Dobby, I understand. If it's OK with Mr. Barlow, we need to arrange for a place to meet. I would suggest The Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade; we can arrange for a private room." He looked at his watch, 2:30 pm, "If it's OK with him, we could meet tonight or tomorrow night for dinner." Lefty and Dobby vanished with a pop, not inhibited by the antiapparation wards of Hogwarts.

After waiting another ten minutes, Dobby reappeared and with a jump informed Harry, "Mr. Barlow will come tonight, Three Broomsticks, 7 o'clock."

Harry decided to give Professor McGonagall the courtesy of notice that Ron, Hermione and he would be offsite for a few hours. McGonagall did not appear too happy about it, but she recalled the agreement between them.

"Very well, Mr. Potter. Please try not to arrive too late. I will provide word to Mr. Filch."

Harry had not been in the headmistress' office since the beginning of the term, though he had often visited it during Dumbledore's tenure. Harry took the opportunity to view the former headmaster's portrait, and just as the only other time he saw it, Dumbledore sat in a large rocking chair, asleep, his chest rising and falling almost imperceptibly.

"Professor?" Harry called softly, not knowing whether he should wake him up or not.

"Don't waste your breath, Mr. Potter, he's been like that all summer. Has not awakened even once." McGonagall gazed up at the portrait, "Nobody understands why. Magical portraiture is an unpredictable art."

"Really, he's been like this for over two months?" Harry asked intrigued.

"Correct, Mr. Potter, but I have other concerns at the moment. Please do not dally in Hogsmeade, and try to make your departure and reentry inconspicuous."

Harry tarried a few moments longer in front of his mentor's portrait before taking his leave. He then rushed off to find Ron and Hermione to let them know of their dinner engagement in Hogsmeade that evening.

The three seventh-years discreetly left the castle, which did not arouse suspicion as the day was warm and pleasant and many students basked in the sun. They zigzagged a bit through the grounds, ultimately reaching the high stone wall which marked the border of Hogwarts. This could not been viewed from the castle, so they walked along the wall until reaching the front gate.

Upon reaching The Three Broomsticks, the proprietor, Madam Rosmerta, greeted them, and whispered in Harry's ear, "McGonagall told me you may be in town from time to time. Let me know if there is anything I can do to help. I mean, after what happened . . . ."

Harry knew that she referred to her actions, unwillingly performed by her under the control of the imperious curse, which contributed to the death of Professor Dumbledore.

Harry nodded his thanks, for he was fond of Rosmerta and did not blame her, and replied, "Thanks, I'll remember that. But for now, we'd like one of your private rooms. We're meeting a man at seven for dinner, and I'd prefer not to have everyone staring at me. It's become a bit of a problem lately."

"Oh yes, I understand, Harry. I've seen how the Prophet has hounded you. Follow me," and Rosmerta led them to a smallish room with four tables, already set for dinner. "We're not expecting a large crowd tonight, so we will not be needing this room. Who are you waiting for so that I can send him in."

Richard Barlow arrived a few minutes late and though polite to the three teens, he appeared quite nervous and out of place. After they had been seated and ordered drinks, Barlow looked around the room as if expecting a ghost to pop out of the wall.

Hermione finally asked, "Are you all right, Mr. Barlow?"

He realized what he had been doing and apologized, going on to say, "It's just been a long time since I've been in Hogsmeade, twenty years at least. I don't keep in touch much with the wizarding world, you see."

Harry thought that Barlow reminded him of an athlete now past his prime, perhaps a rugby player. He stood about as tall as Ron, who now stood well over six feet, but had the muscles of a man who works with his hands. His belly, however, was no longer that of an athlete. His thinning brown hair still covered his head, but probably would not in a few years. Harry figured he must be the older brother of Amelda, who would have been just a year or two younger than Sirius. Richard looked to be at least ten years older than Harry's godfather.

"Really?" asked Harry, "You are a wizard, obviously. What do you do?"

"Well, it is true I am a wizard, but there is a lot of muggle in me. In fact I feel a lot more muggle than I do magical." Barlow stopped speaking as Rosmerta brought in their drinks, butterbeer for the teens and mead for the man. He sipped his mead and pursed his lips.

"Never did much like this stuff, but I haven't had it for so many years, thought I shouldn't pass up the opportunity."

"Hermione here is muggle born, and I was raised by muggles, so I think we can identify with you a bit," Harry responded, trying to make Mr. Barlow feel comfortable. His efforts seemed to be helping.

"Is that right? Well, I'm a half blood myself, as my mother is a muggle, and though I went to Hogwarts all right, I spent the rest of my time in the muggle world. My mother knew about my dad being a wizard and all, but she had no interest in it, and my father rarely used magic in our presence." A wistful expression came over his face, and he adjusted himself in the chair, making himself more comfortable.  
"I learned enough magic at Hogwarts; thought I was great stuff for a while. But I never much liked the wizarding world, with those snobbish pure bloods and all. When I graduated, I went back to Wales, went to work as an automobile mechanic. Have my own garage now. Mostly do all the work the muggle way, but I do 'cheat' when I have to with a well-timed spell. Helped me with my business, got to admit that."

"Are you married, Mr. Barlow," asked Ron, who self-consciously had not yet spoken, and shifted nervously when Barlow mentioned pure bloods.

"That I am, married a muggle, just like my father. Knows I'm a wizard and thinks its kind of cute. Uses me to light fires and levitate things into the closet, but otherwise doesn't give a hoot about it. Married late, I did. Have two boys, nine and six. Haven't decided if I'm going to send them to Hogwarts or not, but they both definitely are wizards. Been showing it lately, if you know what I mean," Barlow winked at them.

Hermione could not resist asking about Lefty, "If you prefer to live like a muggle, why have you kept a house elf?"

"Oh, Lefty's family been with our family for generations. He's the best house elf you'd ever want, big help to the Mrs. and me. I'd free him in a second if he'd let me, our home not really being a place for a house elf, but he refuses. Says he likes it there, even though he has to hide when any muggles are around. Keeps me informed a bit about what be happening in the magical world. I'm not completely ignorant," Barlow grinned, looking at Harry's scar.

The four enjoyed their meal, and Harry realized how rarely in his life he had actually eaten dinner at a restaurant. Of course the Durleys almost never took him, only when they drove to or from Aunt Marge's house. As they finished, the inevitable lull in the conversation occurred, and everyone looked at Harry to get down to business.

"As you know, Mr. Barlow," Harry began, his fingers fidgeting nervously, "We would like to speak with your sister, Amelda. I'm afraid we can't tell you exactly why, but I can tell you that she is not in any danger. We understand that she was a good friend of Regulus Black, and we need to know some things about him." Barlow's face soured when he heard the name.

"Regulus Black, haven't thought about him in years. I knew the Blacks, pure blood elite scum were Mr. and Mrs. Black. Sirius was all right - didn't really know him much - but I never liked Regulus. Neither did my father. Real upset when Amelda and Regulus became such friends. I'll tell you, the Blacks didn't like it either. Must'a been hard on both of them."

"We're they romantically involved?" asked Hermione cautiously, setting her knife and fork down.

Barlow looked at her and then tilted his head back, gazing at the enchanted ceiling showing the night stars.  
"Not quite sure, to tell the truth. I assume so, but they must have kept it quiet. They were close though, that's for sure. Strange pair. Slytherin and Ravenclaw. Pure blood and half blood. Handsome and plain." He tilted forward again to take another sip of his second mead, "They drifted apart after Hogwarts, and I hear Regulus got caught up with Volde, I mean You Know Who."

"You can say 'Voldemort' here," Harry interrupted.

"Right, most people don't like me saying it. Never understood that. Anyway, Regulus got caught up with Voldemort, and Amelda stayed away, but something happened - don't know what - and they were real close again. That must have been five, six years after Hogwarts. Understand that I was eleven years older than Amelda, so I wasn't around. We get on OK, but couldn't say we are close. I don't see her very often, since she moved to Romania."

Mr. Barlow eyes glazed slightly, and the three teens politely left him to his thoughts for a few moments. Harry's eyes met Hermione's, and she nodded her encouragement.

"Well," said Harry, "we were hoping you could contact her for us so that we could speak with her. It really is very important. I can't say much more than that, except that it does have to do with the fight against Voldemort."

Ron shifted in his seat, and Hermione gnawed on her lower lip. They knew that Mr. Barlow's response would dictate their next moves. If he refused, they would fall all the way back to where they started.

Barlow stared at Harry considering his response. Involuntarily his eyes fixed on Harry's scar, partially visible due to Harry's attempt to comb his hair.

Finally he said, "I may not keep on top of the magical world, but I do know about you, Harry Potter. I know what happened when you were a baby and about what has happened the last few years. Can't say that I knew your father, but the Potter family was one of the pure blood families that my father tolerated. Everyone thinks about pure bloods hating half bloods and muggle born, but it goes just as deep the other way. My father hated almost all pure bloods, but not the Potters." He took another swig of mead. "Now they're saying you're The Chosen One. Don't know about that one way or the other, but I feel I can trust you, Harry. I'll contact Amelda for you. As soon as I get home, I'll give her a call."

"On the tellyphone," asked Ron with interest, almost getting the word right. Barlow laughed.

"Must be a pure blood. Yes on the telephone; she married a muggle too, and lives in a muggle home. But she can apparate over easily enough. I'll set up a time and place for you to meet."

Harry lay in bed that night, his head in a jumble. Dumbledore's portrait bothered him, but he could not decide exactly why. Something struck him as not right. Moreover, he felt anxious to take the next step, destroy the next horcrux, and come that much closer to the final showdown with Voldemort. And why was Voldemort lying low? No attacks for two months. No arrests, no death eater sightings.

Though he tried, he could not clear his mind of Ginny either. They had studiously avoided each other over the first week of school, which proved difficult when they belonged to the same house, hung around the same common room, and her brother was Harry's best friend. Harry missed her, but he also remained upset with her. The more he thought about their encounters at the Burrow, the more unreasonable he felt she had acted. She had ended it, he reminded himself, it was her fault, conveniently forgetting that it was he who had broken up with her in the first place.

Three days passed since the dinner with Richard Barlow, and Harry's nerves were on edge. He suggested sending Dobby back to talk to Lefty, but Ron and Hermione told him to stay patient. Hermione had no hurry in any event, for her duties as Head Girl combined with her natural tendencies toward study occupied virtually every moment of her day. Though she attempted to mask her joy, she felt thrilled to be back at Hogwarts. Ron and Harry would only see her at meals, during joint classes and for a brief chat by the fire before bed. Harry could see Ron becoming more perturbed by her schedule, and thought back to their conversation in Ron's bedroom during Harry's coma. Would Ron try to bring up that subject again? Would he ever have the chance?

Harry had not yet missed a class, and as a seventh year, he took fewer classes than before: Transfiguration, Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Charms. These were the only subjects where he would be allowed to take his NEWTs. He could have taken more non-NEWT subjects, but he did not want to bother even with these four. Whereas other seventh-years already obsessed over the end-of-year exams, Harry had not given NEWTs a second thought. His study habits deteriorated, and had Hermione been around to supervise, she would have given him a good tongue-lashing. Yet so far he performed fine in all of his classes, even Potions. The new Potions master, Carlota Cooper, an energetic woman of some considerable age, had a manner of teaching which Harry found easy to understand, and he successfully, more or less, prepared the most complex potions he had ever seen.

In fact, Harry felt that the more he cared less, the better his magic became. Various transfigurations which in the past would have defeated him, he now mastered within minutes. While other students concentrated with all their might, eyes closed, jaws set, Harry merely wanted to get it over with. After he had succeeded transfiguring larger mammals (a pig into a badger, for example) a few times, he found that he could transfigure most any animal into most any other animal without undue difficulty. While his written work remained mediocre at best, given the cursory effort he gave it, his practical performance in all of his classes was second to none.

Other students noticed Harry's improvement, and the whispers began.

"What is happening to Harry?" "He's really training hard for when he has to fight You Know Who." "How is he doing it? Seems like he's not even trying." Ron attempted to ignore Harry's dominance of new and complex spells, charms, hexes and transfigurations, but finally he could do so no longer.

"What's up with you, Harry?" the lanky red-head asked while Harry practiced their charms assignment in the common room. He had just waved his wand and simultaneously moved a dozen large pillows spread randomly throughout the expanse into a neat pile in the corner. Ron's feeble attempts invariably resulted in half the pillows falling on the heads of his house mates, and watching Harry's nonchalant mastery of extremely complex charm work did not inspire him. "You're doing these things like you're buttering your toast."

"Don't really know; I guess I've just gotten better. All I do is try to get it over with. I've got other things to worry about." Then Harry remembered that Dumbledore had written something about that in the letter Harry read at Privet Drive. What was it? He excused himself and rushed up to his trunk and opened the carefully guarded letter, scanning over it. Then he found it and read it to himself three times:

**_Harry, you have the most raw magical power of any wizard I have ever known, including myself. Due to the tragic circumstances of your childhood, you have not yet realized the potential of this power. Remember that at its core, magic is simply the desire to make something happen and then causing it to happen. Spells and wand movements assist us, but desire and confidence are the key. Believe in yourself! Believe that you will succeed!_**

Now he understood what Dumbledore meant. Now he could feel it. It seemed so easy.

"Why didn't they teach us this before?" he wondered, but he knew that it could not be that easy, not for the average witch or wizard. Others had seen his potential, his ability to perform amazing feats, even if overall his performance had been mediocre.

"Unspoken spells!" cried Harry to himself, "I can do them. It's just a matter of wanting it to happen and making it happen." As if to prove it to himself, he pointed his wand at a quill on the floor next to his trunk, thought "accio," and the quill shot into his hand. He pointed at his firebolt in the corner, and it hovered over the floor. With casual flicks, the broom moved here and there. So easy! Harry felt foolish that he had not been able to master unspoken spells as a first year. Now it felt as natural as flying on his broom. A wave of confidence and hope pulsed through his body.

The patience recommended by his friends paid off the next day when Dobby managed to attract Harry's attention into an empty classroom.

"Lefty told Dobby that Amelda Barlow will meet with Harry Potter. Not tonight, and not at the Three Broomsticks. Amelda Barlow does not want to be seen by wizards." Dobby handed Harry a piece of muggle stationery, women's stationery with purple flowers gracing the corners. At the bottom, he read the words, "_From the Desk of Amelda Stanovich._" Her married name, Harry realized.

**_Mr. Potter: _**

I rarely agree to meet with wizards these days, given the state of the magical world. In your case, I will make an exception. However, I prefer not to meet with you in wizarding areas.

Please meet me in front of St. Paul's Cathedral in London in two days at 3:00 pm. I will be waiting for you. Naturally I know what you look like and will introduce myself. I believe I know what information you seek.

Until that time, I am yours sincerely,

Amelda Barlow Stanovich

"Finally!" Harry cheered, and then turned to Dobby, "Please tell Lefty that I will be there, and thank both Lefty and Mr. Barlow for me." Dobby nodded happily and disappeared.

Predictably, Hermione showed little pleasure in leaving Hogwarts, what with so much to study, and this essay to write, and her Head Girl duties.

"That's OK, Hermione, you can stay. Ron and I can go, or I'll go alone if Ron can't get away. We don't all have to meet her," Harry suggested.

"I'm going," stated Ron flatly, the thought of missing an opportunity to leave Hogwarts unthinkable.

Hermione groaned, "Oh, I'm going too. You know I am; it's just that I have so much work." She scrunched her eyes for a moment and jumped to her feet, "If I do a little extra tonight and tomorrow, it should be OK."

Harry and Ron shared a knowing glance and shook their heads. This time the three would have to miss a class, Charms, which bothered Hermione no end. Who would take notes for her that she could trust?

"Hermione, you know how to do every charm we are practicing this year already. You could skip every class and still be top of the year," Ron asserted reasonably. Hermione frowned but did not contradict him.

Again Harry arranged to tell the headmistress that the three of them would be gone for an afternoon, and Professor McGonagall did not bother to argue this time.

"Please be discreet again, Mr. Potter. I will provide Professor Flitwick with an excuse for the three of you." She paused to think of a decent pretext for their absence. "You will be meeting with Ministry officials regarding the inquiry into Professor Dumbledore's death. You understand, Mr. Potter."

Harry nodded and instinctively turned towards Dumbledore's portrait. The headmaster still sat sound asleep in the stately rocking chair.

"He hasn't woke up yet?" asked Harry.

"Alas no, Mr. Potter. Thank you for keeping me informed." Harry knew when he was no longer welcome, but again he tarried for a moment before the motionless portrait.

None of the three were able to apparate to St. Paul's. Hermione had been there as a child but did not recall it well enough. They at first thought of apparating to Diagon Alley and calling a taxi, but Harry remembered his last visit to the shopping area all too well. Instead, they would appear at King's Crossing, and hail a taxi there.

The warmth of summer had started to recede, but at least no rain or bad weather ruined the day. The three made their way to the front gate and then removed their robes, stowing them under some bushes. To all the world, they looked like three typical teenagers out on the town. With a nod, they disappeared and found themselves, thankfully all in one piece, at the designated apparation area at King's Crossing. The three casually left the deserted platform and made their way to the taxi stand.

They had not experienced the traffic of a major metropolitan city such as London, and the few minutes they had anticipated to arrive at St. Paul's turned into forty. As so often the case, the taxi driver drove aggressively through traffic, and Ron especially turned green. They hurriedly paid the driver and rushed to the front steps of the magnificent structure, knowing that they had arrived almost ten minutes late. Beside himself at their tardiness, Harry thought that Amelda Barlow, reluctant in the first place, may change her mind. But the worry proved unfounded, as in a few moments a lady in her forties approached from their left.

Eyeing Harry carefully, especially the tell-tale mark on his forehead, she thrust out her hand and stated, "Pleased to meet you, Harry Potter."


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Think Before You Jump

Amelda Barlow Stanovich bore little resemblance to her brother, Richard Barlow, the two having few common features. Before the three teens stood a stout middle-aged woman, with a friendly face and thick curly blond hair down to her neck. She wore a typical muggle dress.

After introductions, Amelda pointed down the avenue explaining, "There is a favorite restaurant of mine a couple of blocks that way. To be honest, I arranged to meet you here so that I could talk to you there."

The three consented and maneuvered their way down several busy blocks, weaving their way through the mass of pedestrians in an attempt to keep up with the middle-aged witch. Amelda walked quickly and powerfully, forcing others on the street to avoid her. Soon they seated themselves in a typical fish and chips shop. Harry could see nothing special about the establishment, but Amelda seemed to absorb every inch of it with relish, reliving good memories.

"Regulus and I used to come here occasionally, you know, "Amelda commented, carefully placing her purse on the floor and spreading a napkin on her lap, "I know you wanted to talk to me about him."

Harry nodded but held up a hand, "Just a moment, Mrs. Stanovich." He discreetly unsheathed his wand and muttered, "Muffliato."

"I've never heard that spell," Amelda commented with curiosity, "Must be a new one. By the way, please call me Amelda."

"Actually its an old spell," explained Harry, replacing his wand in its holder, "but it's not well known. It makes people around you not focus on you and sort of creates a buzz in their ears so that they can't listen in." Amelda smiled and gazed quickly but appraisingly at each of the three friends.

"Ah, yes, I remember learning new spells. But I've outgrown that, I'm afraid. I understand Richard told you that I am married to a muggle." The three nodded. "My husband knows about my abilities, but he prefers I not use magic. From time to time I might when he's not around, but I'm pretty much a muggle now. With what I hear's going on in the magical world, I think I'll stay right where I'm at." She flipped her menu on the table, already knowing what she wished to order.

Hermione wanted to put Amelda at ease, though the older woman did not appear nearly as nervous as her brother.

"I don't blame you. I'm muggle-born myself, and sometimes I wonder if my life wouldn't have been better if I had stayed there. But I'm very much part of the magical world now, and I can't turn back." Hermione smiled genuinely and shifted back into her chair.

"She's Head Girl this year," boasted Harry proudly, pointing at Hermione, "She's the most talented witch we know." Hermione blushed with pleasure, a smile of thanks on her face. Amelda casually glanced again at the three teens, all of whom had dressed as nicely as they could given their limited wardrobes. The two boys wore plain jeans and shirts while Hermione wore a navy blue vest over a white blouse.

"Well, I was no Head Girl, that's for sure," Amelda chuckled, "but I knew my way around a wand. Still do when I want to, but you know, when you live like a muggle for awhile, you discover that you really don't need a wand for much, unless you're just plain lazy. And that's what's happened to a lot of wizard folk; they're just plain lazy."

As enjoyable as this was, Harry nervously fidgeted in his chair, anxious to get down to business.

"Amelda, I don't think you know that Sirius Black was my godfather, so I know a bit about the Black family. But we need to know something about Regulus Black, and we understand that you were a good friend of his."

Amelda's friendly expression gradually turned more serious and reflective. She set her iced tea down on the table.

"Yes, Regulus and I were friends, especially at Hogwarts, but then again just before he died." They could hear the emotion in those last words. "Regulus was a wonderful person corrupted by those horrible parents of his!" she growled.

"We were wondering how you got to know him so well," asked Ron as tactfully as he could between bites of his chips, "I mean you were Ravenclaw and he was Slytherin, you were a half blood and he was a full blood. . . ."

"And he was handsome and I was ugly," Amelda interrupted with a laugh. She obviously did not take herself too seriously. "Well, I was a bit better to the eye back then, but I was never a looker. Regulus was quite handsome, at least I thought so. You never met him, of course, but he looked a lot like Sirius, an inch or two shorter, not quite as muscular, but otherwise similar." She sighed deeply, and began to tell the story, one which she had never told anyone before:

"It's hard to explain why we became such fast friends. We had some classes together in all of our years, and I sat next to him by chance in one of them, in first year. We liked each other, and whenever we had class with Slytherin, we would find each other. Regulus may have looked like Sirius, but he was much quieter, not an attention-seeker like his brother. But Sirius had a strong will; he'd stand up to Merlin himself if he had a mind to. Sure stood up to his parents from what I hear. Regulus wasn't like that. He was completely under the influence of his parents, especially that hag of a mother."

Amelda paused for a few seconds, half of her meal remaining on its plate forgotten. Ron had finished his meal, while Harry and Hermione took a bite from time to time without realizing it.

"He didn't know I was a half blood at first, and when he found out, he didn't know what to do. By fourth and fifth year, we were liking each other a little more, if you catch my drift, but he couldn't get past the blood thing. By seventh year, we had more than a few rows about it, I can tell you. But he had changed, become darker. I could see it and told him so. He stayed under the spell of his parents who supported You Know Who, and, I'm not sure exactly how it happened, they pushed him into joining the death eaters."

She paused to breathe, and then relaxed. It felt good to get this off her chest.

Taking a sip of her iced tea, she continued, "I tried to talk him out of it, but it was useless. That was it, I told him, don't come looking for me anymore. Shed a few tears, I did. And that was it for about three years. I still lived in England at the time, near Bath, and I had pretty much put him behind me, when he showed up at my door. I can't describe my shock when I saw him. He looked terrible, thin, gaunt, scraggly hair." She shook her head at the memory, while Harry recalled how Sirius appeared the first time he saw him in the Shrieking Shack.

"Well, to get to the point you're looking for, he told me that he needed my help, that he'd found out about the dark lord (that's what he always called him), what he really was doing. You Know Who wanted to kill all muggle borns, then half bloods, and then who knows what. In the end, Regulus just couldn't stomach it. Said he had done terrible things, that he had to do something to redeem himself. Then he told me why he needed my help." Amelda lowered her voice while glancing at the other patrons, even tough Harry's spell remained in effect. "Do you know what a 'horcrux' is?" Harry gave her a thin smile.

"Yes we do. I guess you can guess that's why we're here."

"I thought as much," Amelda replied, though she did not return the smile, "It's the only important thing I know, and I don't know much. All I know is that Regulus took me to this god-awful cave by the coast. It was terrible getting in there, but Regulus somehow knew all about it. He knew exactly how to get in, cross this lake to a little island. That's when he needed my help." Amelda's voice choked, and she shuddered at the memory. She could not go on.

Harry pushed his plate away and carried on the story, "He had to drink a potion from a large bowl, right? And you had to force him to drink all of it." Amelda nodded.

"So you've been there too?" Harry nodded. "Regulus then was terribly thirsty, but he made sure to bring a bottle of water. He told me wand water wouldn't work but regular water from a muggle tap would. He grabbed a golden locket from the bowl even though he was wracked with pain and almost delirious. I was beside myself, but he somehow kept going. He put a fake locket back in the bowl, and then we took the boat back. He could hardly walk, but somehow we made it back."

"We figured something like that must have happened," Harry admitted, listening avidly to every word, "What we really need to know is what happened to the locket. Was Regulus able to destroy the horcrux?" Please let it be destroyed, he thought.

"He tried. He had seven or eight different theories; I never understood them. I helped him brew a horribly complicated potion that he thought would kill it, took two weeks to prepare, but it didn't work. There were a couple of incantations that he had discovered that he thought might work, dark magic, but they failed too." Amelda crumpled a napkin in her hand while she spoke. "I tried to tell him that he needed to use some form of light magic, that no dark magic would be able to kill it. But he told me he had to try everything. Nothing worked, and he despaired. By then, You Know Who knew that Regulus had abandoned him. He hid for quite a while, I helped him, but after eight or nine weeks, he gave up."

Tears streamed from Amelda's eyes, which she tried to dab as quickly as they came. She looked around to see if others noticed her tears, but the muffliato spell prevented that. A look of determination came over her. She was so close to the end of the story.

"The last time I saw him, strangely enough, was at the Black mansion. I had only been there a couple of times, because of course his parents did not approve of me, but he snuck me in while his parents were away. He told me he wanted to come home one more time before the end. That was a terrible day, because we both knew that he was as good as dead. He was a broken man by that point, because he had failed to destroy the horcrux. It was heartbreaking," she concluded, her voice breaking throughout.

They allowed her a few moments to compose herself before Hermione asked the most important question, "Did Regulus have the locket with him? Was it at the Black mansion?"

Amelda sniffled and wiped her eyes as she nodded. "Yes, he had it there."

"Is it still there?" Hermione asked anxiously.

"No." Amelda paused for a moment in internal conflict before deciding she must proceed. "No, its not there. He gave it to me. He told me to hide it, hide it until I find a person who can destroy it."

The three friends flinched, shocked by this news, as none of them ever considered that Amelda herself may have the horcrux. After a long pause, Harry realized that he needed to convince her to give the locket to him. He shifted forward in his chair and nervously brushed the hair from his eyes.

"Amelda, I am that person. I don't think you know that Voldemort created more than one horcrux. I have destroyed two of them; I know how to do it. It's not easy, but it is my mission. It is my destiny."

Though the fish and chips restaurant reverberated with noise and activity, for the four diners at Harry's table, there was complete silence. Amelda's face did not appear friendly now. Harry and she stared intently at each other. The older woman tried to look as deep inside the famous young wizard as she could.  
Neither spoke for nearly a minute until finally Amelda, still staring at Harry, concluded, "I believe you. My brother was right. There is something about you, Harry Potter. It's not your story or your 'legend.' I don't know what you have to do or how you will do it, but I believe that you can do it." She lifted her purse from the floor and opened it. Carefully she removed a small, square box, and after holding it for a second, placed it in front of Harry. "This is it."

Upon returning to Hogwarts, even Hermione forgot about homework and Head Girl duties, and the three found an empty room down the hall from their common room. Harry barely uttered a word on the way back, deep in thought. Now that he possessed another horcrux, fear filled every vein of his body. His thoughts reverted to Hufflepuff's cup and the battle for his soul. The lava-like water that he drank still haunted him, and he dreaded another struggle with a different section of Voldemort's soul. Now that it came down to it, he did not want to suffer that again.

Hermione took the top off the box, and they gazed at the golden locket, none of them daring to touch it.

"How do you think this one works, Harry?" she asked as she removed several pins from her hair, allowing it to fall naturally.

"It's a locket; I have to wear it." he responded simply, "I'll have to open it."

"When do you want to do it?" Ron half whispered.

Harry stared at him, his eyes wide with fear, "Never!"

Hermione and Ron looked at Harry and then looked away when they saw the pain on his face. They knew that they could never understand what Harry would have to suffer.

After a long uncomfortable silence, Hermione finally decided, "We can wait, Harry, until you feel ready. You shouldn't do anything until then." She edged her chair a few inches closer to her friend's.

Harry glanced at Hermione while she spoke but then returned his gaze to the stone floor.

"Let me think about it," he responded, "I can't wait forever, but . . . ." Ron and Hermione understood, and Harry needed to say no more.

"We'll have to plan how to do it, anyway," offered Hermione, hoping that turning the discussion to pragmatic matters would make the discussion easier. "This is different from the cup. We can decide when and where, and try to make it as comfortable as possible."

"Comfortable is not exactly the right word," Harry retorted, "but you're right. We can do it at Grimmauld Place. Dobby can be there to take care of me if, you know, I'm out of it again." Harry had a terribly difficult time talking about this, more than he had ever had in his many adventures. The certainty of the pain and the desperateness of the battle overwhelmed him.

"We'll be there too, Harry," Hermione insisted with finality, "We'll be there for every minute!"

"You have too much to do here, Hermione. Hogwarts needs you. Ernie isn't doing much as Head Boy, and this year Head Girl is extremely important," Harry argued half-heartedly, "Dobby can handle it, and you can come from time to time."

"I'll be there, Harry," promised Ron, "This is far more important than classes. I can keep Hermione up to date."

"I don't care about Head Girl!" Hermione exclaimed, reaching her hand out to Harry's, "They can dismiss me, or I'll quit. I am not going to let you face this alone. We don't know what this horcrux will be like; the other three have all been different. Ron and I should be there. Even if . . . (Hermione wanted to word it tactfully) . . . it happens again, I mean, if you are unconscious, you told us that you were aware. We can give you support, help you in your recovery."

Deep down, Harry wanted to hear this. He did not want to face this alone. Hearing his friends' support briefly buoyed his spirits, but only briefly.

"Thanks," he whispered, his gaze still downcast, "That means a lot to me."

Harry tried his best to mask his depression over the next week, but his friends noticed soon enough. He overheard Neville Longbottom asking Ron, who responded that Harry just had a lot on his mind. Later Ron reported that Seamus and Dean had also noticed, and Harry knew that if the boys noticed, the girls most certainly had. Amazingly, his practical work in class continued to be superior, despite the fact that he could barely pay attention to anything for more than five minutes. The reading for his four classes should have taken him hours each day, but Harry barely opened his books. From time to time he would read a page or two and then flip though several more, picking out a word here or there on each page. Good enough, he would decide and flip the book away. Hermione, who had started hanging around the common room more often, did not bother to chastise him. Ron and she briefed Harry as best as they could for the two written exams that week, and Harry remembered enough to obtain passing grades.

The delay in action served Harry well. He thought continuously about the horcrux and the battle to come, and gradually his initial fear diminished. By the end of the week, he became restless. The time had come.

"Come in," Professor McGonagall's voice sounded, and Ron, Harry and Hermione entered her office. Harry quickly glanced at Dumbledore's portrait - no change. The three had decided that the headmistress must be told that they would be away, possibly for an extended period of time. "I take it you are leaving the grounds again?" McGonagall asked in a businesslike manner as she returned an armful of files to a cabinet drawer in the corner of her office..

Since Hermione as Head Girl saw a lot of the headmistress and had developed a rapport with her, she had been designated to speak.

"Professor, we thought you should know that the three of us will be gone, probably for several days, though we don't know for sure how long. We will leave on Friday morning, and if all goes well, we may be back by Monday, but it may take longer."

The comrades awaited the explosion from the headmistress only to be greeted by silence. McGonagall stared at them intently and began pacing the office slowly. For a moment, she appeared ready to speak, only to continue pacing. More than once she glanced at Dumbledore's portrait. Finally she returned to her chair as the nervous trio awaited her judgment.

"This deals with something of great importance, correct?" The three nodded. "I assume it will involve a certain amount of danger?" Nods. "I further assume that it must be done?" Nods. "And lastly I assume that you will not inform me what you will be doing." Sheepish nods.

"Very well," McGonagall conceded, "I do not believe it necessary to give you my feelings on this matter, but I knew to what I agreed when I spoke with you in August. What should we say to the students who will inquire as to your whereabouts?"

"We already thought of something, Professor," Ron responded, "We need to attend an inquiry at the Ministry, the subject of which, of course, is confidential."

McGonagall pursed her lips, "I guess it is just as bad an excuse as any I would invent. The students will see right through it, of course." She stood to move to the front of her desk, sitting on the edge directly in front of Harry. They examined each other uncomfortably for some moments before the headmistress's visage softened. "Be extremely careful, Harry. Please do not act impetuously. Think before you jump!"

Harry could not avoid noticing that McGonagall had called him "Harry" rather than the usual "Mr. Potter," and tremendous worry filled her voice. The worry of a mother to a son departing for war.

The three mates finalized preparations for the next horcrux battle on Thursday. Harry met with Dobby with instructions to prepare Harry's bedroom and two others for an extended stay, and to take some of his clothes, as well as some for Ron and Hermione. Harry did not want to take his trunk, as that would arouse suspicion. Dobby sensed the seriousness of the venture, though he did not ask for an explanation.

A whirlwind of activity, Hermione attempted to accomplish all that she could. She made a point, however, to check on Harry several times during the day. Ron acted unusually quietly during the day, a bundle of nerves. No longer were they enthusiastic soldiers stepping on the battlefield for the first time, ignorant of the horrors to come. Now they were battle tested, and perhaps a bit battle weary.

Ron remembered Harry's words in the park in Little Whinging: "I can't tell you guys how much I appreciate you being willing to help. It's going to be so hard, and it's going to be dangerous." He shook his head, not believing that less than three months had passed since that day.

Word had been spread by the three that they would be gone for a few days at the Ministry for the secret inquiry. Whether anyone believed them mattered little, at least the others would know that their absence had been planned. At the end of the day, the three friends lounged comfortably around the fire late that evening, speaking little.

Ginny watched them closely from a distance, worry etched on her face. Something big was happening, she knew, but Ron would not tell her anything other than the obvious lie about the inquiry, and she knew Harry would tell her nothing. She felt helpless.

Finally Friday morning arrived, and the three scurried about with the energy of travelers leaving on vacation. After an early breakfast, Harry returned to his trunk and carefully placed the small box containing the horcrux in the pocket of his robe. Their friends wished them luck at the inquiry and wondered what they were truly doing. At last they walked openly to the front gate of the Hogwarts grounds and apparated to the same spot outside No. 17 Grimmauld Place where they had brought Snape bound and gagged just a few weeks earlier.

Dobby greeted them and offered them refreshment. Though they had already eaten at Hogwarts, they welcomed any reason to postpone the inevitable, and the three friends sat in the kitchen quietly drinking tea and nibbling a few small cakes. None of them recalled the time less than two months earlier when they sat around the same table laughing hysterically at their silly jokes.

"Let's go," Harry soon ordered, pushing himself away from the thick table, "It's time." Hermione noticed that Harry's hands trembled. The three slowly climbed the stairs to his bedroom, which Dobby had prepared for him. Extra pillows sat on the bed, and many pillows lay piled on the floor around the bed in the event Harry should fall.

"At least I'll be comfortable," Harry joked, and Ron and Hermione, who had hardly spoken a word all morning, forced a smile.

Harry removed his robe and shoes, making himself at home. Sitting on the bed, he opened the box and examined the horcrux again. The golden locket truly was a beautiful piece of jewelry, expertly crafted with Slytherin's snake wrapping itself around the closed frontal piece. As he had done several times before, he waved his hand an inch above it, feeling the familiar magical aura emanating from the box. He had secretly hoped that they were mistaken, that this really was just a golden locket, not a horcrux at all.

"Are you sure you know what to do with it, Harry?" Hermione pleaded. She had carefully broached this subject before, but Harry merely assured her that he knew exactly what to do. And for some reason he could not explain, he knew. The horcrux was telling him, he realized. Like Hufflepuff's Cup, the locket made no attempt to avoid him. It WANTED this battle.

A somber mood descended on Harry's room, and it seemed proper for some final words. The young wizard felt like an aged father on his death bed, awaiting a blissful end.

"Well, let's hope this one is a little easier than the last one," Harry commented, trying unsuccessfully to sound unconcerned.

Hermione stood and pulled Harry off of the bed and into a bear hug, her arms wrapped as far around Harry's back as she could reach. Somehow she managed to prevent the tears welling up behind her eyes from falling, for she wanted to show Harry her confidence in him. Harry made no effort to break the embrace.

Finally Hermione loosened her grip and promised, "We'll be here all the time, Harry. I know that you'll destroy it. Remember, you've done it twice before. Remember that we love you, Harry, all of us do." Harry nodded his head but looked away.

He turned to Ron, who waited his turn but could not put his feelings into words. The lanky red head had always been in Harry's shadow, ever since first year, and he had resented it. But at this moment, he hoped he could hide in Harry's shadow forever, and the realization that Harry might not make it, that he might not overcome the horcrux, was too painful to contemplate.

Instead he avoided it altogether with a feeble attempt at humor, "Don't get too comfortable here, Harry, we have a DADA exam next Thursday." Harry smiled, understanding the reason behind his best friend's humor.

The two friends embraced, and Harry patted Ron on his back responding with his own light comment, "Don't let her drive you crazy," gesturing towards Hermione. He turned back to his bed, no longer feeling nervous or fearful. Harry remembered Dumbledore's letter.

"I have the power," he thought, "Let's get this over with." He removed the locket from the box and immediately felt a numbing shock pulse through his body, which intensified when he slipped it over his head, letting it hang on his chest. With one last glance at his friends, he opened the locket and released the horcrux.


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

I Have the Power

Hermione and Ron watched in horror. The moment Slytherin's locket clicked open, Harry screamed like a banshee. In excruciating pain, he clutched the golden locket to his chest with his right hand, eyes bulging and mouth wide open, while his body jerked spasmodically on the bed, knocking half of the pillows to the floor. The onlookers thought they had prepared for anything, but Harry's agony far exceeded anything they imagined.

Hermione instinctively jumped to help Harry, only to be restrained by Ron, who yelled over Harry's shouting, "You can't touch him!" She tried to break free of Ron's grip anyway, but Ron held firm and shouted, "Remember what happened in the museum. Don't touch him. Harry told us not to, no matter what."

Hermione knew this, of course, but the sight and sound of Harry writhing on the bed and screaming overwhelmed her. She burst into tears, turning into Ron's arms, who wrapped his arms around her. He attempted to comfort her, but he needed her comfort as much as she needed his. The sight of his best friend by all appearances dying on the bed in front of him was unbearable, and the inability to do anything about it ripped his insides apart.

"What's happening to him, Ron?" Hermione half yelled to be heard over Harry's cries of pain.

"The horcrux attacked," Ron replied, stating the obvious, "but Harry will fight back, just give him a chance." Ron stated this with greater certainty than he felt, but Hermione relaxed slightly at the words. As she relaxed, Harry quieted and though his body remained stiff as a board, he seemed to have regained some semblance of control.

"You see," Ron exclaimed, "he's fighting back. The horcrux got in the first blows, but it doesn't know who it's dealing with."

They held each other for some seconds watching their friend, when suddenly Harry's head jerked left then right, and he shouted, "I HAVE THE POWER." Ron and Hermione jumped at the sudden outburst, but felt heartened by it.

"He IS fighting back," Hermione accepted, not completely convinced before, "he survived the first attack." She wiped her tears away and released Ron.

And so the Battle of Slytherin's Locket began. Ron and Hermione stayed in the room all day. At times Harry relaxed but then tensed violently. He appeared to be conscious, at least not unconscious, but he did not react to any noise or movement in the room. At times muttering escaped his lips, but Ron and Hermione could not understand it. Dobby popped in and out to check on his master, and to bring Harry's friends drinks and food, which they ate grudgingly. Never had watching a man lying on a bed been so riveting, and they sat on pins and needles.

As soon as the locket opened, a white-hot knife stabbed Harry in the heart and then twirled inside of it, ripping apart every ventricle. Harry knew he had been killed, taken completely by surprise by the instantaneous attack of the horcrux. The word "pain" could not describe it; this was complete devastation.

The moment before Harry opened the locket, he felt prepared. He had taken a deep breath, and told himself to be ready for anything, especially pain. But nothing could have readied him for the intensity of the pain that followed, ripping through him like lightning. He was aware of nothing, not the fact that he was screaming, that Ron and Hermione were screaming, not even that he had failed in his task. The pain blocked all possible thought for what seemed like hours. In reality, only a few seconds had passed.

The blitzkrieg served as an attempt to overrun Harry's defenses so quickly and thoroughly that he would not be able to counter. Taking over the victim's soul would then be child's play. But as the pain intensified, something deep inside Harry rose to the surface, an instinctual desire to survive, and though Harry never would remember how it happened, he regained conscious control of his mind, despite the overwhelming pain. He realized again that a horcrux inside of him wanted his soul, and that defeat of the horcrux would require all of his will and magical power.

Without realizing it, he shouted, "I HAVE THE POWER!"

At this expression of confidence, the tide of the battle turned. Able to concentrate again, Harry focused all of his will on controlling the pain and reaching a standoff with the horcrux. He needed time to regroup.

"I am not injured," he forced himself to believe, for he understood that the horcrux could not physically harm him, despite the pain it could cause. "My heart is fine. I am alive. I will not die." Thus Harry reestablished a degree of control, and his shouting ceased, and the true battle began.

"You are a wizard of great power," the horcrux communicated to him, "for you have withstood an attack which would have destroyed most wizards. I congratulate you."

Harry murmured his answer aloud, though not loud enough to be heard, "You underestimated me. I am the horcrux destroyer. I have destroyed two already, and you will be the third."

"Ah, but it is you who underestimate your opponent. I can feel your power, that is true, but I can feel your weakness. You have been damaged by your previous battles, and I have damaged you further with my attack."

"I am still strong," Harry answered, "and you are but a part of a soul, not even a half. You cannot control me, for I will not be controlled! We will fight." Without waiting for a response, Harry went on the attack with a counteroffensive which surprised the partial soul. This time Harry tried not to think as much as before.

"Just trust your power. Magic is wanting something to happen and then making it happen," he thought, remembering Dumbledore's words. "I want to destroy this horcrux."

His power flowed through him without direction but somehow surrounded the horcrux and confined it to a spot in his abdomen which burned like a bad rash.

"It will be over soon," Harry thought, "I know what I am doing now."

But it was not over soon, as he could not find a way to attack the horcrux further. The horcrux repelled each attempt, but the injured horcrux could not counterattack. The combatants reached stalemate.

Throughout the conflict, Harry remained conscious and at times felt the presence of Ron and Hermione, and even Dobby, vaguely hearing voices from a distance. But he could not release his focus or control of his magical force, for if he did he knew the horcrux would attack at once. What should he do? Should he devise a strategy of attack, or should he let go and allow instinct to govern. There had to be something missing, some key to finishing it off.

Early evening had arrived, and Ron and Hermione quietly discussed the current status of affairs.

"This is taking a lot longer than last time," Hermione analyzed, "but I have the feeling that Harry is doing better. Like he is in control."

Ron studied his best friend and agreed, "Yeah, it seems like he's the one attacking when he tenses up and shakes. That doesn't seem like he is reacting to something. It's him taking action. Still, I'm worried. It's taking an awful long time, and I'm not sure how long Harry can last. He's got to be exhausted. Just look at him."

Sweat beaded on Harry's forehead, and he appeared to have aged ten years in the few hours of the battle. The two friends made themselves as comfortable as they could for the long watch, having kicked off their shoes and draped themselves over chairs in the room. They were prepared for a lengthy wait.

"I wish we could do something to help," exclaimed Hermione with frustration, "this waiting is horrible."

But at that moment, Harry tensed up again, and the pair froze in anticipation. He began to shake more violently than before, but a look of supreme determination came over him.

Suddenly he yelled, "IT'S LOVE, RIDDLE! YOU CAN'T STAND IT." His body shook more and more, and Ron jumped up and stepped towards the bed.

"This is it," he hurriedly shouted to Hermione, then he approached Harry and like a fan at a football match yelled into Harry's ear, "YOU CAN DO IT, HARRY! FINISH IT OFF!"

Hermione followed behind Ron and closely watched Harry's struggle. She noticed that his face hardened with determination at Ron's words.

"He heard you, Ron," she exclaimed excitedly, "I think it helped him."

So Ron continued his words of encouragement, "You're right, it's love, Harry. Love will destroy it. You can finish it now!"

Hermione joined in the cheerleading, "We all love you, Harry. Now you can finish it, and we can all be together again."

Something was definitely happening, and one way or the other, this was it. Neither of them had ever mentioned the possibility of failure, of Harry being possessed by the horcrux, or Harry becoming a second Voldemort. Harry had reminded them on Thursday of what they must do if he failed, but Ron and Hermione only nodded. They would not verbally promise to do what Harry asked, and Harry did not force them to. It was unthinkable. Harry would not fail.

Suddenly Harry contracted his body slightly and then let out a roar of maximum effort, like an exhausted athlete expending all that he had left for the final play of the game, not worried about retaining anything for tomorrow. Ron and Hermione froze in trepidation, grasping each other's hand, not understanding exactly what was occurring. But Harry's body convulsed again, and once more, and then it ended. He slumped into the pillows on his bed, releasing the horcrux with his right hand, which fell limply to the bed. Ron and Hermione noticed that the aura around Harry had vanished. The battle had ended, but who won?

Hermione ventured to touch Harry, and this time Ron did not stop her. She cautiously touched her fingers to Harry's arm, and when no shock occurred, she grasped his hand. Harry weakly squeezed her hand and opened his eyes, sweat pouring from his hair and face.

"It's over," he said, "it's gone." He closed his eyes and slept. Hermione crawled onto the bed, with her back against the ornate headboard, and she lifted Harry's head on to her lap, running her fingers through his soaked hair.

"That's right, Harry. It's over now. But how many more times can you do this?" She lifted her watery eyes towards Ron, whose own eyes had filled with worry. "Isn't there some other way, Ron?"

Ron shook his head. "I don't know. I don't think so. That's what's so scary."

Had Harry been a student of muggle warfare, he could have analogized this battle to those of the First World War - trench warfare. Each side pushed only to be pushed back - effort exerted by both combatants with no reward for either. The horcrux had weakened, Harry could feel it, but so had he. This was to be a war of attrition, but which side would crumble first under the pressure?

During one of the lulls in the battle, the horcrux again communicated, "This is madness, Harry Potter. It will be a terrible waste when I at last prevail. You are a worthy opponent, but can you not see the hopelessness of your position. You cannot harm me, and eventually you will weaken. I am not of flesh and blood; I will not weaken. Years I have waited, Harry Potter, I can wait a few more days. But together, we could be formidable, great beyond greatness. Think about it, Harry Potter. You can end this pain."

Harry's turmoil was so great that he considered the offer seriously. Why should he fight such an uphill battle? Even if he prevailed over this horcrux, two more awaited him. He never wanted to suffer this again. He could join forces with this horcrux. Who could say what would happen? If he agreed to the merger, the horcrux would not replace Harry's own soul, they would meld into a new soul. Maybe he would not turn evil. Maybe the new soul could control its evil impulses. It made sense, didn't it?

"Be reasonable, Harry," he told himself, "You know you cannot win in the end."

In the background, Harry heard Ron and Hermione talking, though he could not understand them. But the image of his two friends emerged in his mind as if they stood right in front of him.

"You are deceiving yourself, Harry," Hermione's image argued, "You can't control a horcrux. You will turn to evil, and you will be unstoppable. Do you really want that?"

Harry's head jerked back and forth in frustration. He did not want that, but he needed to end this suffering. Sweat dampened his shirt and poured off his face.

The Ron image added, "You have come too far, Harry. Now is not the time to give up. Don't lose your will to fight. Don't forget about everyone who loves you."

"Love," Harry thought as the images of his friends dissolved. "Dumbledore says that is the power he knows not." Images of all of the loves of his life appeared and dissolved in front of him: His mother and father, Sirius, Dumbledore, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, and finally together, Ron and Hermione. This was his strength, he understood; this is what Tom Riddle never had. Power recharged inside of him, and he knew he could attack one last time, that he could end it.

As a battle cry, he shouted, "IT'S LOVE, RIDDLE! YOU CAN'T STAND IT."

Thinking of all the people he loved, Harry attacked once more with a fury unknown to the horcrux, whose defenses weakened. He pushed on the horcruxes walls as hard as he could, and when he weakened, he thought he heard the voices of Ron and Hermione encouraging him, urging him to finish the job. Roaring one final brutal push, he felt the walls crumble, and he enveloped the partial soul with the love in his heart and his magical power. The horcrux could not exist in such an environment, and suddenly it vanished. Harry knew the battle had ended, and for the first time in who knows how many hours, he relaxed. He collapsed.

Slipping into unconsciousness, he felt a caress on his arm and a familiar hand holding his. With the residue of his consciousness, he opened his eyes to see the worried face of Hermione.

"Don't worry, Hermione," he thought, and then aloud he whispered, "It's over. It's gone." Unconsciousness claimed him.

As Hermione held Harry's head in her lap, wiping the sweat off his face with a towel, she studied him closely. The color in his cheeks receded and a paleness overcame him. His breathing became labored, and Hermione sensed that something was not right. She moved Harry's head onto a pillow and pulled out her wand. Though healing magic exceeded the scope of a Hogwarts education, she knew a few basic diagnostic spells. Immediately she knew that Harry was not well, in fact much worse than that.

"Ron," she called urgently, "something is very wrong. Harry's breathing is poor and he barely has a pulse. Go right now, get Madam Pomfrey and bring her here. NOW!"

Hearing the gravity in her voice, Ron did not ask questions. He made sure he had his wand and raced to the front door of No. 17 Grimmauld Place. As soon as he passed the antiapparation zone, he turned and apparated to the front gate of Hogwarts, not worrying whether muggles saw him. He raced the half mile from the front gate to the front door of the castle without slowing down, adrenalin rushing through his veins. A few students walked the halls, half an hour before curfew, and shocked expressions followed Ron as he bolted up the stairs two at a time on his way to the hospital wing.

"Madam Pomfrey, Madam Pomfrey!" he shouted between gasps for air, "You've got to come with me. It's Harry. He's badly injured."

The healer had been tending to minor hex residue on a second-year girl, when she heard Ron's plea. Immediately she ran to her office to grab her medical travel bag and ran to the fireplace.

Grabbing floo powder, she instructed Ron, "Floo to the Hogshead Inn. We'll apparate from Hogsmeade."

Meanwhile Hermione and Dobby kept close tabs on Harry.

"PLEASE get here soon, Madam Pomfrey,"she pleaded, as Harry's breathing became more irregular and his pulse weaker. "What are we going to do, Dobby?" she cried.

"Dobby does not know, Harry's Granger, elf magic will not help Harry Potter. Harry Potter must not die." Dobby hopped from one foot to the other in despair, but all he could think to do was dab Harry's face with a cold towel.

Madam Pomfrey and Ron would not arrive for at least fifteen minutes, Hermione calculated, and Harry's condition continued to deteriorate. She caressed his hair and cheeks, her hands shaking from fear, when suddenly Harry's body slightly trembled. He stopped breathing. Hermione laid her hand on his chest for several seconds; his chest did not move; he lay on the bed completely still, his arms and neck gradually relaxing. She waved her wand to check for a pulse but found none. Harry Potter had died.

Without access to any magical remedies, Hermione cast her wand to the floor and jumped on Harry's bed, straddling Harry's stomach. She had never learned proper CPR technique, but she had seen firefighters do it, and she could think of nothing else to do. She pounded her right fist as hard as she dared on Harry's chest, and then pumped his chest with the ball of her right hand, her left hand pushing on top.

Feeling no change after several seconds, she again pounded on his chest, yelling, "DON'T DIE HARRY POTTER!" Her eyes bulged wide open, and her hair escaped their bindings, pointing in all directions.

With the second thrust to his chest, Harry's body convulsed, and his lungs gasped for precious oxygen. His heart beat again, and after his second or third breath, he convulsed again, vomiting over himself and Hermione's arms and blouse. Never had Hermione been so happy to be vomited upon, and tears of relief flowed from her eyes.

"GET HERE SOON, MADAM POMFREY!" she yelled.

Dobby had frozen at the unknown site of muggle medical procedures. At first he thought Hermione pounded on Harry in sorrow for his death, and the elf had pointed his finger to blast her off of his master and hero. But something told him that Harry's Granger would not hurt him, and he realized that she desperately was trying to revive him. When finally Harry took his first breath, Dobby jumped so high in the air, that he fell over upon landing. His concern returned when Harry vomited, but he took this to mean that at least Harry was alive. With a wave of his hand he vanished the vomit from the witch and wizard.

Hermione pressed her ear to Harry's heart and heard it pumping weakly but regularly. She moved her head to his shoulder and sobbed, releasing all of her emotions.

"Don't ever do that again, Harry! Never!"

Moments later Ron and Madam Pomfrey rushed into the room, and seeing Hermione sobbing on top of Harry, Ron feared the worst.

"Hermione, is he . . . ?

"He's alive" Hermione cried and ran into Ron's arms, "but he died for a minute."

The healer immediately began waving her wand over Harry, muttering to herself. In seconds she opened her bag, magically enhanced so that it contained an entire pharmacy, and snatched two potions which with skill and experience she poured down Harry's throat.

Through her sobs, Hermione managed to explain, "His heart stopped. He stopped breathing. I didn't know what to do, so I tried CPR, but I didn't really know how to do it. The second time I hit his chest, he started breathing. He almost . . . ."

"He's alive, but just barely." Madam Pomfrey informed them, "The potions should stabilize his condition. If you had not acted as you did, Miss Granger, I fear I would have arrived too late." The two friends heaved a sigh of relief while Madam Pomfrey continued assessing Harry's condition.

At last she concluded, "I find no internal injuries, other than the bruise on his chest. This appears to be a case of extreme exhaustion, though I have never seen any exhaustion so severe." She eyed the Head Girl and Gryffindor Prefect accusingly and asked, "So are either of you going to inform me of what happened to Mr. Potter?" Neither spoke for several moments.

Finally Ron responded the only way he could, "I'm sorry, Madam Pomfrey, but what we have been doing is highly secret. We cannot talk about it with anyone."

Hermione nodded her agreement, struggling to bring her emotions under control, adding, "We can tell you that Harry has been through a severe struggle, and he most certainly should be exhausted. Will he be OK?"

"Yes, I believe he will," the older witch replied, her stern expression softening, "but he must have complete rest for a week at the least, probably longer. The potions I gave him will cause him to sleep for quite some time, perhaps as much as twenty-four hours. I am reluctant to move him at this point, and this room appears to be suitable for rest," Pomfrey decided taking in her surroundings, "I will want to check on him every day. As Mr. Weasley could not provide me with the address, one of you will need to accompany me. Naturally, if Mr. Potter should show any signs of weakening, you are to contact me at once. Perhaps we can move him to Hogwarts in a couple of days."

Ron and Hermione sat together in the sitting room exhausted from the emotions of the day. Dobby tended to Harry, although nothing truly needed to be done as Harry slept peacefully. The house elf shooed them out of the bedroom and told them to sleep, as he had prepared a room for each of them. Despite their exhaustion and the lateness of the hour, past midnight, neither desired the comfort of a bed just yet.

They remained silent for a considerable time reliving what had happened.

"I really thought it was going better this time," Ron mused, running a hand through his red hair, "I mean it took longer, but it seemed like he was more in control."

"Goes to show that we can't tell what he is going through. I'm sure he isn't telling us everything," Hermione surmised, slumping into the sofa, completely exhausted. "Did you see how reluctant he was to do it this time. For Harry not to dive right into something is not like him. He KNOWS how horrible it is."

"Well, he did it. He destroyed another one," Ron concluded, not feeling much consolation.

"Yes he did, but there are two more, Ron," Hermione shuddered, "How is he going to destroy two more? I don't think he can survive that." She inhaled deeply to control her emotions, as she had cried more this day than she normally cried in a year.

"Who else could do it, Hermione? I know I'm not strong enough, and it's not a matter of 'giving it a try.' If the horcrux wins, then You Know Who's soul takes over. We'll have another dark lord to deal with!"

"Say 'Voldemort' Ron, if I can do it, so can you." Hermione softly chided, but added, "I couldn't do it either. Only two wizards have destroyed a horcrux, Harry and Dumbledore, two of the most powerful wizards ever to live." She noted Ron's questioning gaze. "Oh yes, Ron, Harry is about as powerful as they come. Look at what he is doing in classes this term. He's learning new spells, not easy ones either, without even trying. We have to concentrate with all our might to do them half right, and he's got it figured out in five minutes. He's always had the ability, but now he is learning how to use it, and to control it."

"At least you can do the spells; I'm having a terrible time this year," Ron admitted morosely, draping one leg over the arm of his chair, "but you're right about Harry. He's reminding me of Dumbledore more and more, the way he does advanced spells without even the proper wand movement. He just kind of flicks it, mutters the incantation, and boom, it's done. Doesn't help my confidence any."

"Oh Ron, you're a fine wizard. Don't go comparing yourself to Harry!" Hermione lectured, "He's one in a million, just like Dumbledore. I have trouble with our practical work this year too, I just work harder than you do."

"Back to Harry," responded Ron, anxious to redirect the conversation away from his deficient study habits, "What are we going to do when we find another horcrux? There has to be some other way."

"I don't know, Ron," Hermione answered with a yawn, her exhaustion showing, "Let's talk about it tomorrow."

Madam Pomfrey pronounced a significant improvement in Harry's vital signs the next day, though he had not yet awakened.

"Is he in a coma again," Hermione inquired, knowing that last time Harry lay unconscious for a week.

"No, he is just sleeping," Pomfrey answered while putting her equipment back into her traveling bag, "I would expect that he'll wake up some time today, perhaps tonight at the latest. However," she wagged her finger, "do not think that his regaining consciousness is a sign that he has recovered. He will be extremely weak for some time to come, certainly a month, perhaps several months." The pair must have appeared disbelieving to the healer, for she took a moment to put the final items away and then motioned for them to sit.

She pulled out the mahogany chair from under the desk for herself, and explained, "Mr. Potter is one for the books, Miss Granger and Mr. Weasley. This case is no exception. As I mentioned yesterday, I have never seen nor heard of a case of exhaustion causing the patient immediately to die, as Mr. Potter most surely would have without the fortunate intervention of Miss Granger. Most people's bodies involuntarily shut down when approaching the limits of exhaustion. True they may push themselves to a great degree, and if not treated promptly, exhaustion can cause serious difficulties. But rarely if ever does a person exert himself to the point of causing their own death." Hermione and Ron listened intently, not surprised at Harry's ability to exceed normal conduct.

Madam Pomfrey continued after a pause to sip some water provided by Dobby, who also paid close attention, "A typical victim of exhaustion will require a week or two to recover, while in more extreme cases a month or more may be necessary, and that is with the assistance of certain potions. We will start with those potions in a day or two when Mr. Potter has improved." The healer picked up her robe from the hook where she had placed it, and took one last look at her patient before taking her leave. She shook her head in astonishment.

The day passed slowly, and Ron and Hermione took turns staying with Harry, the other either napping or reading. Late that afternoon, a Saturday, Harry began to move in the bed, and Ron quickly called for Hermione so that they would be there together when Harry finally awoke. Some ten or fifteen minutes later, Harry regained consciousness, demonstrated by a low purring moan of pain. He turned onto his back, eyes still closed, and moved his hand to his head, moaning more loudly. Hermione grabbed a vial of potion that Madam Pomfrey instructed should be given as soon as Harry awoke.

Finally he opened his eyes to the semi-dark room, noticing two blurred figures to his right. Instinctively he reached out for his glasses but his hand hovered in midair, as he missed the night stand, where his glasses sat, by several feet. Ron quickly grabbed them.

"Here you go, Harry. How are you feeling?"

Harry's reply cannot be repeated here, but his vulgar expression perfectly described how he felt.

"Here, drink this," Hermione instructed, cupping Harry's head in her left hand while bringing the pain-relieving potion to his lips with her right.

A few seconds later, Harry's color improved, and he grunted, "That's a little better. At least I can think now." He still rubbed his aching temples. Focusing on his friends for the first time, he gave a reasonable facsimile of a smile. "Well, that was fun, wasn't it?"

"Oh Harry, it most certainly was not fun!" Hermione chastised him happily, "I've never been through anything less fun." Harry nodded his agreement and crashed back onto his pillow. Hermione sat on the bed, holding Harry's hand, while Ron half sat at the foot.

"I'd appreciate you not doing this again, Harry," Ron joked, trying to keep the mood light, "Watching you sleep is not exactly exciting entertainment."

"At least I don't snore like you," Harry retorted, and his two friends smiled that Harry retained a sense of humor. "How long?" he asked.

"It's Saturday night, so a little over a day," answered Ron.

"That's not so bad, is it? Was a week last time."

"Not as long, Harry, but much worse. We'll talk about it later," Hermione reassured, "Do you want some water?" The young wizard nodded, and the Head Girl brought him a glass. Harry was back, but was he whole?


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

She Can Help Kill Me Too

Harry's recovery from Slytherin's locket dragged slowly for day after boring day. More than anything he wanted to leave that bed behind, but every time he felt well enough to walk a little, within a few minutes he returned to bed exhausted. Madam Pomfrey examined him every day when Ron flooed to Hogsmeade to fetch her, and she began his potion therapy, which Harry had to admit helped a bit. But more than anything, she told Harry that he would have to take extreme care for the next month or two. Reading between the lines, Harry understood her real message: Don't do something else as stupid as whatever it is you just did.

Although the word "coma" sounds terrible, Harry much preferred the week after the Hufflepuff Cup Battle to the week following the Slytherin Locket Battle. While in the coma, he felt reasonably comfortable and content, but now he suffered from constant aches and exhaustion. Madam Pomfrey informed him that he could return to the Hogwarts hospital wing if he preferred, but Harry declined. His stated reasons were that he would be more comfortable in his own house and that he did not want to be a distraction at school. But he also did not want Ginny to see him like this.

The battle took its toll on Harry. Though only a few days had passed, he seemed to have lost fifteen or twenty pounds from his already wiry body. The bones on his face protruded noticeably, and his eyes sunk back into their sockets. What little fat he had disappeared, and Ron and Hermione could not help but notice that their friend seemed to have shrunk an inch or two.

By Tuesday, he had convinced Ron and Hermione to return to Hogwarts for classes, but they insisted on returning to Grimmauld Place every evening. Though grateful for their company, he could only find blackness for his future. He had no future.

"It wasn't too bad, Harry, we'll help you when you get back," Ron explained, as he told Harry about the Thursday DADA test, "You won't need any help for the practical part; you've been nailing those spells for years."

"My shield was not as strong as it could have been," complained Hermione, setting her bag full of books on the kitchen table, "I just couldn't seem to concentrate today." Ron shook his head knowing that her shield far exceeded his own.

"You need to concentrate less," Harry countered, his voice quivering slightly from his weakness and from the exertion needed to walk down the stairs to the kitchen, "You just have to let it happen. Decide what you want to happen and then make it happen. That is the essence of magic according to Dumbledore. I think I finally understand it now." Harry's faded blue t-shirt hung off of his shoulders like a tent.

"Easy for you to say, Harry," Ron joked while munching on freshly-baked cookies provided by Dobby, "but for us normal wizards, it's easier said than done. I've tried relaxing like you've been telling me, but then nothing happens at all."

"Well, once you figure it out, it makes magic a lot easier," Harry alleged, sipping the pumpkin juice provided by the house elf, "It's how I defeated that horcrux. I had to stop trying to control everything and just let it happen. It's kind of like flying. Hermione doesn't fly well because she is trying to control the broom with her mind. Good fliers don't think about flying at all; they just let their instincts control. That's more or less what I did. It was hard though," Harry added as an afterthought, not wanting his friends to think the battle had been a walk in the park.

"In my view, flying definitely is for the birds," Hermione defended herself while enjoying a cookie. She had removed her robe and wore jeans and a form-fitting sweater. Despite his illness, Harry could not help but notice his best friend and silently approved of her choice of attire.

Unaware of Harry's musings, Hermione added, "It's been a bit difficult at school, Harry. Everyone is asking about you, wanting to know what happened."

"What's been the official lie?" Harry asked.

"That you took seriously ill and have been ordered to bed rest for at least a week. We've agreed that it is a form of wizard's pneumonia," Ron explained.

"I suppose that's not far from the truth," Harry commented, "Of course, I'm sure nobody believes it." Dobby placed two cookies in front of him, trying everything to add some meat to Harry's bones.

"Ginny definitely does not believe it," Hermione explained, reading Harry's mind, "She asked us what happened, and blew her top when we gave her the pneumonia explanation." Hermione paused before continuing, "She . . . said some things and then stomped away. Hasn't talked to us since."

Hermione hid something, Harry knew, but he considered a moment whether he truly wanted to know. He decided he did not and remained silent. Hermione expected Harry to ask what exactly Ginny said and furled her brow in confusion at Harry's apparent disinterest. She decided not to say any more.

Ron, on the other hand, felt no such compunction, "Yeah, she said 'Fine, I don't want to know. All I know is that you are going to kill Harry. How are you going to feel then?' You know how she can get, Harry. Steaming mad, she was."

So Ginny blamed Ron and Hermione. "How dare she!" Harry thought to himself, the visage on his face hardening.

"You tell her that if she wants to be mad at someone, she can be mad at me," Harry growled furiously, "I can take care of killing myself, thank you very much."

Hermione glared at Ron for his tactless statement, though she would have told Harry herself had he asked. She could not avoid feeling upset by Ginny's remarks too. Who had done more than I, thought Hermione, to try to protect Harry? Nevertheless, she would take the high road.

"We will tell her no such thing, Harry. You need to talk to her yourself. This game you two are playing this year is childish." Harry exploded, his lips curled into a snarl. He thrust an angry finger towards his best friend.

"RIGHT, Hermione, all I've been doing since Dumbledore died is PLAYING GAMES," Harry replied furiously, releasing his frustration, "Maybe I should start taking things a bit more SERIOUSLY now. I really need to plan for my FUTURE, don't I? Yes, I understand. I should go right up to Ginny and say how SORRY I am that I haven't let her join in all this FUN. Then she can help KILL me too, if that's what she wants."

Ron and Hermione had been on the receiving end of a number of Harry's angry outbursts; nevertheless, the ferocity of his reaction to Hermione's rather mild rebuke stunned them. The tirade exhausted him, and he had to rest his head on his elbows, breathing heavily.

On another day, Hermione might have responded in kind, but she knew Harry was in no condition for that.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to upset you, " she replied as calmly as she could, moving around to Harry's side of the table, "You know Ginny is just worried about you. I don't think she really meant what she said." Harry merely glared in response, and Dobby helped him back to his bed.

**HARRY POTTER SERIOUSLY ILL**

**  
The Prophet has learned from sources at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry that Harry Potter has taken seriously ill and currently is recuperating at his home. The exact nature of the illness is unclear, and the Hogwarts administration has declined all requests for comment, citing Mr. Potter's right to privacy. It is believed that Mr. Potter will make a full recovery after a period of extended rest. **

Sources inform the Prophet that the illness is believed to be viral wizard's pneumonia. Some sources flatly stated their belief that in fact "The Chosen One" is not ill but is suffering the effects of an injury. Mr. Potter and his closest friends, Hermione Granger, muggle-born Head Girl at Hogwarts, and Ronald Weasley, son of Ministry official, Arthur Weasley, left the Hogwarts grounds last Friday. The purpose of their travel is unknown, and the Prophet has not been able to contact Miss Granger or Mr. Weasley for comment. The two of them, however, are reported to have returned to Hogwarts.

Harry handed the newspaper back to Hermione.

"Well, I suppose it was unavoidable. Students write to their parents. Not much we can do about it now," Harry reasoned.

In the past, Hermione and Ron knew, Harry would not have taken such an invasion of privacy with such philosophy, but they had to agree that in the whole scheme of things, the Prophet article rated far down the list.

"I agree, Harry, but I thought you ought to see it anyway," Hermione explained. Harry nodded and sat back on the overstuffed chair in the sitting room.

Ron and Hermione apparated back to Grimmauld Place Friday night after classes and planned on staying the entire weekend. Harry's condition had improved substantially over the previous two days, and he now walked about the house slowly, though climbing the stairs back to his room tired him. Dobby followed him everywhere, and when Harry tired, Dobby easily levitated him a few inches above the ground and floated the wizard up the stairs. Harry found this a bit embarrassing, but somehow it did not seem so terrible when Dobby did it.

More than anything, his mind had cleared, and he had been able to contemplate the events of the previous weekend. Until this moment, he had not discussed what happened in any detail with his friends, and when they gingerly inquired, he brushed off the questions, promising to tell the tale when he felt better. The time had come, and suddenly Harry felt an urge to relate the whole battle.

He looked at his friends, receiving cups of tea and pieces of cake from Dobby, and asked, "So I suppose you want to know what happened?"

"Of course we do," Ron replied, adding, "only if you feel up to it." He sat at one end of a sofa, while Hermione occupied the other. Each of them had changed out of their uniforms into more comfortable attire, Ron wearing an old grey t-shirt, Hermione an oversized sweatshirt.

"Yeah, I'm up to it. Let's get it out of the way; we have a lot to discuss this weekend. I'll probably be back at Hogwarts next week, though I don't know why." Harry received his cup and cake and set it on the table next to his chair.

His audience sat horrified as Harry related the Battle of Slytherin's Locket, especially Harry's description of the initial attack of the horcrux.

"It felt like a huge knife of molten metal stuck into my heart and then twisted around a hundred times. I can't explain it any more than that. It was beyond pain; it was death."

At times during the tale, Ron or Hermione interrupted to inform Harry when he had said something audibly or moved in an unusual manner, and thus they could remember the various stages of the battle. Harry expressed surprise that his friends had shouted their cheers during the final attack.

"I remember feeling your encouragement, but I didn't know you were actually shouting.; anyway, after the horcrux was gone, I really don't remember anything until I woke up the next day. I know that I was pretty bad off."

And so Hermione and Ron took center stage, informing Harry of his "death" and Hermione's desperate application of muggle emergency medical techniques. The story shook Harry to his core, as he had no idea that he had come so close to death. He stood up and hugged Hermione with all his might, thanking her for saving his life. Hermione cried freely as the emotions she had bottled up all week came gushing out. Ron looked on somewhat uncomfortably, until Harry motioned him over as well, thanking him for his lengthy sprint to the Hogwarts hospital wing. The two embraced fully as the tearfully happy Hermione looked on approvingly.

Harry tired quickly from the show of emotion, and they helped him back to his chair. After a sip of his tea, he felt better.

Returning his gaze to Hermione, he joked, "Sorry about vomiting on you. That was really uncalled for."

On Saturday, Harry remained strangely quiet all morning, only minimally participating in conversations. They had agreed to have a "strategy meeting" after lunch, as Harry seemed to feel strongest in the afternoon. Ron and Hermione waited on pins and needles, knowing that something bothered Harry and that the afternoon session may prove to be, to say the least, uncomfortable.

Even one extra night's sleep had noticeably improved Harry's condition, and he walked around the house more easily now. While he did not feel up to a game of Quidditch, for the first time he believed that some day he may feel normal again. The three gathered in the sitting room, tension in the air.

Ron had not bothered to comb his hair on the non-school day, and a few red whiskers could be seen on his chin if one looked hard. Hermione's hair had been slightly tamed, but instead of finishing the job, she tied it back in a pony tail. The two boys had only rarely seen her hair done in that fashion, but neither of them gave it a second thought. Other matters were on their mind.

Harry saw the others looking to him, expecting him to call the meeting to order.

"I can't say I'm very optimistic," he began, "Other than killing the horcrux, things didn't go right. I would say it was close to a disaster."

Instead of trying to contradict Harry, Hermione did him one better.

"We almost lost you, Harry. It can't get any worse than that. I don't know how you did it. You basically used up so much energy destroying the horcrux, that you almost died." She shook her head, filled with pessimism. "I don't think you can survive another one. We have to do something else."  
"Like what?" Harry asked. Sometimes the shortest questions are the hardest.

"I don't know," sighed Hermione despairingly, "We'll have to think of something. At least we have some time. We don't even know for sure what the other horcruxes are. And in any event, you'll need a couple of months to recover fully."

"Maybe one of us can do it next time," offered Ron, "or maybe we could somehow do it together, you know, combine our strength." He saw the others looking at him unconvincedly, and concluded, "I don't know how, but maybe we could figure out some way. I'll be honest, Harry, I know I couldn't have beaten it. I don't know who else could do it other than you. But you can only do so much. We may need to ask for help from the Order, or even the Ministry."

"I just don't understand it," Harry remarked with frustration, ruffling his hair with his hand, "I felt so much more in control this time. After I got through that first attack, I knew I was strong enough; I knew the horcrux was damaged." He shook his head, "I should have been able to finish it off a lot earlier. The whole thing shouldn't have taken more than half an hour. I can't figure out why I became so exhausted."

"Harry, you're being too hard on yourself," consoled Hermione, "Nobody else could have done what you did."

"Dumbledore did. His arm burned, but other than that he was OK. He didn't almost die."

"Yes, but Dumbledore's dead now, isn't he," Ron argued, waving his hand in the direction of Scotland, "Sure, maybe Dumbledore could have done it, but I don't know anyone else who could."

Harry dropped his head in despair, finally admitting to himself and to his friends what he had been thinking.

"I don't think I can do it again, mates. It's too much. I feel so weak, so tired. But it's not just exhaustion. The horcruxes are doing something to me. The cup weakened me. That's why I couldn't finish this one off like I should have. Now the locket will weaken me even more. I don't know if I can do another one." He felt an abject failure.

"Let's think about this, Harry," Hermione began, trying to remain calm. She stood up and paced by the fireplace. "We know that four horcruxes have been destroyed - thanks mostly to you, by the way. Dumbledore thinks Voldemort's snake is a horcrux, but we don't know that for sure. If the snake is a horcrux, then maybe all we have to do is kill it. The other horcruxes have required you to use it in the way it was designed: Reading the diary; putting the ring on a finger; drinking from the cup; and putting the locket around your neck and opening it. But you don't wear a snake. How do you 'use' a snake the way it was designed. If we are lucky, you may not have to go through this again, at least with Nagini."

Harry followed Hermione as she returned to her seat, considered her reasoning, which largely followed one of his trains of thought. He remained unconvinced, however.

"I understand what you're saying, but I'm just not sure. That seems too easy. Nagini's horcrux, if it's even there, will not be so easy to destroy."

"And we don't know what the last horcrux is," added Ron, "How are we supposed to find that out. Ask Vol. . . Vol . . . Voldemort over for tea?" Harry and Hermione both smiled broadly at Ron, who for the first time in his life uttered the dark lord's name.

"Maybe there isn't another horcrux," Hermione surmised, "I mean we know that he wanted to split his soul into seven parts, meaning six horcruxes and the seventh in his body, but maybe he never had a chance to complete the sixth horcrux. When he disappeared after trying to kill you, he couldn't have created another one. So unless he created all of the horcruxes before he tried to kill you, he would have been one short." The two boys considered her argument and found it to be reasonable.

"But that's almost worse," Harry replied, standing up due to his agitation, "It's better to know for sure how many there are. Otherwise, even if I'm lucky enough to kill Voldemort, we won't know for sure if he is truly gone."

"Harry's right. Actually, you're both right," contributed Ron, "Somehow we need to figure out for sure how many there are." Harry nodded his agreement, and returned to his overstuffed chair.

Nobody wanted to ask the next question, "How?" They sat in silence, each hoping someone else would uncover the perfect plan.

Finally Harry commented cryptically, "The only way to know for sure is for Voldemort to tell us. Or for one of us to get inside of his head."

The other two could not respond for a moment, not exactly understanding Harry's point. Obviously Lord Voldemort was not about to send them an owl discussing the number of horcruxes. What did Harry mean by getting "inside of his head?" Finally Hermione gasped when she realized what Harry suggested.

"No, Harry! Don't even think about that!" she implored, jumping from her chair.

"I don't want to think about it, but what else can we do. We're stuck," he argued back.

"What are you . . . ?" Ron tried to ask, only to be cut off by Hermione.

"But you know what happens. It could kill you. HE could kill you."

"HE'S GOING TO KILL ME, Hermione. I just don't know when," Harry responded pessimistically, "If I'm lucky, maybe I can take him with me."

"What are . . .?" Ron tried again without success.

"That's not true, Harry! You can defeat him, but not if you do something stupid like that!" Hermione admonished, her pony tail bouncing behind her, "We can't afford to take such risks until we have no other choice."

"WOULD YOU GUYS LIKE TO TELL ME WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT?" Ron shouted, exasperated at his previous attempts to get a word in.

Hermione glared at Harry, who merely nodded at her to inform Ron.

"Harry is talking about trying to enter Voldemort's mind through his scar. Not only would that probably get you killed, you don't even know how to do it. This is NOT a good idea, Harry!"

Ron's mouth fell open dumbfoundedly, "You can't be serious, Harry. That could be suicide."

"No it wouldn't be," Harry shot back, "I think I maybe could do it. Before I was a lot weaker magically than I am now. I'd much rather have a go at entering Voldemort's mind than deal with another one of these horcruxes. Why do you think he hasn't entered my mind for so long? Because he is scared. I've been thinking about this a lot these last few days." Before he could continue, Hermione jumped in.

"We don't know how Voldemort thinks, Harry. I don't think he's afraid of entering your mind if he thought it would serve his purposes. We're lucky he's left you alone; it's given us time, and we still have time now. The most important thing for now is that you recover," the young witch argued vehemently.

"Besides, you don't really know how to connect with him, do you?" Ron added, agreeing entirely with Hermione on this one.

Harry hesitated with a knowing look in his eyes which Hermione immediately caught.

"Don't tell me that you've already tried this, Harry. Not in your condition." Hermione exclaimed disbelievingly, moving to the edge of her chair.

After another hesitation, Harry finally admitted, "I didn't try to enter his mind, but I just tried to see if I could connect with Voldemort through my scar. For some reason, I felt like I knew how to do it now. Last night I tried it just for a second, even less than a second. The first few times I couldn't, but then I focused on my scar the right way when I said 'legilimens" and I saw a flash of his mind before I left. Then I waited to see if he would try to enter my mind, because if he knew I made contact with him, I know that he would try to contact me in retaliation, but nothing happened. I don't think he knew what happened."

Hermione hopped off her seat in fury.

"Harry, do you realize how dangerous that is. Especially now, when you're so weak. You have to be extremely careful. Do you want to get yourself killed?"

The two friends glared at each other, and as often happened when the two H's got into it, Ron felt like a bystander. The lull in the action, however, allowed him to make a point.

"Listen, before you go off on each other, let me say what I think, then you can ignore me again," the red head cried with increasing frustration, "I think we need to think about what Harry is saying. Maybe it can't work, but it could be exactly what we need to do. You Know, . . . I mean, Vol . . ., Voldemort has never really had to face Harry like he is now. Harry can fight back, especially if he got some practice."

Harry deeply appreciated Ron's support, but Ron continued in a less complimentary fashion, "But Harry, Hermione's right, you have to be more careful. Now is NOT the time! We need to think things through, and you are too weak You HAVE to recover your strength!" The lanky red head had never spoken more urgently.

Hermione seemed surprised to hear Ron speak. Usually he stayed out of these arguments, but she realized that he had a point.

Still furious with Harry, she took a couple of deep breaths to control her emotions as she pleaded, "You can't give up hope, Harry. We believe in you a lot more than you believe in yourself. You've accomplished so much already, destroying two horcruxes in a month. Maybe we've been pushing it too hard. We need to have patience."

"Sooner or later Voldemort will start attacking," Harry responded from his chair, which seemed especially oversized against his emaciated body, "We can't be too patient. The more he does nothing, the more I am sure that his next attack will be spectacular. We need to be creative, think of something Voldemort doesn't think we'll do. That's why I tried to connect." Harry started breathing heavily from the exertion of the argument, and he put his hand over his chest.

"Dobby!" yelled Hermione, waiting a moment for the house elf to appear, "Harry's very tired, help us get him up the stairs to his bed."

"No," Harry argued meekly, "let me stay here." Dobby sensed Harry's weakness and took charge.

"Harry Potter must not become upset. Not ready for that. Harry Potter must come with Dobby."

Hermione gave Harry her hand and lifted him to his feet.

"You've got a long way to go, Harry. Please don't rush it. I'm sorry I got you upset." Harry hugged her briefly putting it into the past, and then stepped sluggishly towards the stairs. Dobby relieved him of that necessity by levitating his master to his bed.

The boredom of Grimmauld Place was such that Harry happily returned to Hogwarts on Monday. Madam Pomfrey thought it prudent that Harry not attempt to apparate for another week or two; thus Harry took the floo network to Hogsmeade, accompanied by Ron. Though he felt much stronger, the walk to the Hogwarts front gate and then up to the castle exhausted him, and he did not attend classes that day.

Harry stuck to the story that he had been afflicted with an especially virulent form of wizard's pneumonia; nobody believed him. Wild rumors circulated. He battled with a score of death eaters, just escaping with his life after disabling ten (or more depending on the story teller). Or he faced off with You Know Who himself, having been severely wounded before miraculously escaping. Unfortunately, several of these rumors made their way into the Daily Prophet. While this most definitely irritated Harry, at least it did not have the negative consequences of previous Prophet articles. To the contrary, he received universal support among all students with whom he had contact, and since almost no Slytherins remained, he did not suffer the unkind comments so common in the past.

Despite her anger at the refusal of Ron and Hermione to tell her the truth, Ginny could not hide her concern over Harry's condition. He assured her that he felt better and would be fine soon enough, but she knew better. His eyes betrayed him. Much of the life had left them, and the energy she had come to know seemed to have left Harry altogether. Her frustration at being left out of the group increased again.

The fall weather at Hogwarts turned for the worse, with plenty of cold rain and wind. Harry spent the next month recuperating, attending class, and pondering his next move. He again performed all spells, charms, transfigurations and hexes with increasing ease, but he no longer bothered reading the texts and wrote woefully short and detail-free essays. Hermione had become his personal tutor, drilling enough information into Harry's head to allow him to pass tests and complete his essays.

Even though technically Harry was not required to present exams and complete essays, per his agreement with Professor McGonagall, they thought it would raise too many questions if he did nothing at all. The Head Girl became increasingly distressed at Harry's lack of motivation and deepening depression. His green eyes had dulled another shade, and she knew that the boy in front of her was not the same boy she met on the Hogwarts Express all those years ago. How much more could he take?

During October, Harry had begun to spend more and more time alone. He often "studied" in empty classrooms, where in reality he dwelt on all that had gone wrong and the hopelessness of his destiny. Desperate and rash ideas entered his brain, only to be thrown aside. Stalemate again. He had no idea what to do next.

Then an event occurred which changed everything. While sitting alone late one afternoon, a flash of flame appeared out of nowhere and suddenly a beautiful phoenix appeared. Fawkes carried a letter, which it allowed Harry to remove. The phoenix trilled beautifully and then disappeared in a flare. Harry immediately recognized the handwriting on the envelop and quickly opened the letter, his heart pounding.

_**Dear Harry: **_

I have much to tell you. Please meet Fawkes alone in one hour at the place of your choosing. Fawkes will bring you to me. Please destroy this note after you have read it and tell no one! I will explain when we meet.

The letter lacked a signature, but Harry did not need to see one.


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

Good Luck, Quick Thinking and a Loyal Friend

Harry found himself in a quandary. The missive Fawkes had just delivered specifically instructed him to inform no one, but his absence most definitely would be noticed. Someone had to know of his absence. He attempted to inform Professor McGonagall but did not find her in her office when he passed by. Possibly he could tell Hermione, but she would ask too many questions. Find Ron instead, he decided.

Unfortunately he ran into the two of them together. In fact, he noticed that the two of them could be found together quite a lot lately. Occasionally he spied them from afar, before they knew of his presence, giggling and blushing. Obviously they tried to hide it from Harry, because they acted carefully in his presence. If a romance between the two had begun to develop, as Harry suspected, he could hardly blame them. Harry recalled their conversation at the Burrow during his coma, and he figured that sooner or later they would decide to give it a try, especially now when they had plenty of time on their hands due to Harry's recovery.

"I haven't been good company lately. Why shouldn't they get together if they want," he reasoned, "Let them do whatever they want." Given his mental acceptance of the situation, Harry did not understand why his stomach churned every time he thought about it.

But at this moment, he had no time to dwell on romantic complexities; Harry motioned them over to a quiet spot and spoke quickly, "Listen, I need to let someone know. I have to leave the castle in a little while. I'm not sure how long I'll be gone. Not too long, I think. Probably I'll be back sometime tonight, maybe tomorrow morning. I can't tell you about it right now." His friends glared at him warily, clearly questioning his motives.

"You aren't going off on some half-brained scheme, are you?" Hermione asked with an air of resigned irritation, her eyebrows raised.

"No I'm not!" the green-eyed teen responded indignantly, "I'm just meeting someone. It could be important or it might be nothing. But I have to check it out." He noted their disbelieving expressions in response to his vague answer.

"Look, I'm coming back," he declared, "I'm not going to fight Voldemort or death eaters or anything like that. You know I'm still not up to that. I'll be back! I just needed to let someone know in case questions are asked. If I was going to do something on my own, why would I be telling you?" He attempted with all his might to mask the excitement tingling throughout his body.

"We can go with you then," Ron suggested, "It would be safer that way." The lanky red head stood a good three inches above his best mate and glared down at him.

"Can't do that. The person I am meeting specifically asked that only I should go. But don't worry, this person is not dangerous. We are just going to talk about some things. It could be helpful." Harry looked at his watch and realized that he only had ten minutes. "I'll talk to you later, I have to go now." And before Ron and Hermione could object, Harry rushed away from them, his robe flapping behind him.

Though he regretted withholding information from his partners, Harry's excitement began to expand as he realized what was about to happen. It all made sense. The portrait that would not wake. The wards on Hogwarts that should have fallen. Snape not dying despite an unbreakable vow. Deep in the recesses of his mind, Harry had wondered, but he had not allowed himself to think it consciously. As soon as Fawkes appeared, however, Harry knew.

Excitement coursing through his veins, Harry jumped slightly when Fawkes made his fiery reappearance. Bird and human examined each other in silence.

"I'm ready when you are, Fawkes." Harry reached out his hand to gently grasp the phoenix's tail feathers, and in a moment he weightlessly floated off the ground until he saw a flash and disappeared. Harry had never traveled in this manner before, and he did not how to call it (phoenixation?), but the sensation felt far different from apparation or portkeys, the only similar forms of transportation he had experienced. All in all, he preferred it to the more common methods, though it did leave his body with an uncomfortable tingling. Otherwise the trip passed smoothly, taking a minute or two to arrive, longer than the other forms of travel. He reappeared in a flash and Fawkes gently lowered him to the floor. The phoenix sung a few welcoming notes.

"Thanks Fawkes, that was wonderful."

Taking in his surroundings, Harry found himself in what appeared to be a typical muggle flat. A neutral beige carpet covered the floor, a leather (or perhaps imitation leather) sofa lined the wall, in front of which stood a glass coffee table with beveled edges, on which sat a number of newspapers. A matching leather chair faced the end of the table. On the other wall sat a television in a bookcase adorned with a few books and other knickknacks on its shelves. A moment later, an extremely old man entered the room from the small kitchen, and Harry nearly fell over.

This man had shortly cropped white hair and a well-groomed goatee. Tall and extremely thin, his height was masked by the fact that he hunched over a cane clutched in his left hand. His pale skin indicated poor health. He dressed in muggle clothing, a simple pair of brown slacks topped by a thick brown sweater. The flat seemed rather warm to Harry, but the elderly man had dressed for cool weather. Harry knew little of blood circulation problems of the elderly, who can feel chilled even in pleasant weather.

The old man smiled at Harry and joked, "What do you think, Harry? Is this an improvement?"

"Is that really you, sir?" Harry managed to ask through his shock, "I mean, I'm sure it is, but I need to be careful these days."

"Quite right, quite right, Harry," laughed the white-haired man, "Ask me anything to confirm my identity." Harry paused for a moment to think of something that only the two of them would know.

Finally he settled on a question, "What was the last drink you had before you died, or before we thought you died?"

"An extremely vile potion in an extremely vile cave," responded Professor Albus Dumbledore, alive if not well. "You will recall that you forced me to drink all of the terrible brew, all for the purpose of obtaining a fake horcrux." He thought for a moment, then revised his statement, "To be entirely correct, Harry, the very last drink was the water that you gave me after I drank the potion." Though his appearance jarred Harry, the smile remained the same.

Harry grinned and took a step forward intending to embrace his former headmaster and mentor, but he froze when he questioned the propriety of that act. He had never embraced him before.

The professor, however, took a step as well and opened his arms, declaring, "Under the circumstances, Harry, I believe that a welcoming embrace would be most appropriate." The old and young men hugged, and Harry worked hard to hold back tears. Dumbledore was alive!

"Make yourself comfortable, Harry. We have much to discuss. I am afraid that my condition has prevented me from following the news until recently. No doubt we both have many questions for each other." Harry watched as Dumbledore gingerly stepped to the leather chair, and Harry walked around the glass table to the sofa after removing his robe and tie. He had not changed out of his uniform before arriving.

"I saw you die, sir. What happened? How are you alive?"

"Good luck, quick thinking and a loyal friend," Dumbledore responded with a chuckle, "but I fear you would prefer a more detailed explanation." Harry grinned and nodded. "Quite a story it is, Harry. You of course are aware of all facts up to the time that Professor Snape blasted me out of the North Tower window. Quite simply, Professor Snape did not kill me, for he could not without also losing his own life. Many years ago, I required Severus to take a wizard's vow not to kill me or anyone connected with the Order of the Phoenix. This was a non-negotiable condition of accepting him back into our fold."

Harry knew this much from his interrogation of Snape, but he chose not to interrupt. Dumbledore waved his wand with his uninjured left hand and two glasses of water appeared.

After sipping from his glass, Dumbledore continued, "As the senior death eater in the tower, Severus found himself in a difficult position. If he refused to kill me, then his disloyalty to Lord Voldemort would be exposed."

Harry's chest constricted at these words, but he could not bring himself to interrupt the professor just yet. His impassive countenance belied the nausea in his stomach upon realizing that the professor still did not know.  
"Thus he thought quickly and used an unspoken spell," Dumbledore continued, "probably expelliarmus, while saying aloud the killing curse. I surmise that he tried to limit the power of the killing curse by combining it with the unspoken spell, hoping to incapacitate me without killing me. The effect of the combined curses, however, (as you are aware) thrust me out of the window and surely to my death. Fortunately the fall from the tower is a lengthy one, and I managed to call for my dear friend, Fawkes, who in a moment appeared by my side. I grasped his tail feathers just a few feet before a certain and unpleasant death, and Fawkes took me to the edge of the forest." The phoenix trilled a few notes of agreement. His eyes wide in disbelief, Harry listened silently, sipping water from his glass.

"The combination of the potion and the two spells left me in dire condition, Harry, but I managed to transfigure a log into my body and clothes, which normally would have been quite simple for me, but in my condition took me three attempts. For many years I have carried a spare wand with me at all times, hidden deep in my robes, a good trick to remember. I then examined the locket, only to be shocked to find the fake. Well, Harry, you can imagine my disbelief and disappointment."

Harry examined the old man during his discourse. Though it seemed impossible, Dumbledore appeared to have aged fifty years since their adventure in the cave. His shoulders permanently hunched forward, and he clearly had lost at least twenty pounds from an already thin frame. Only his blue eyes retained the vibrancy of the past.

"Though I had not died, I felt my death may arrive within hours, or even minutes, so I placed the locket and note into the pocket of my transfigured robe, hoping that you would find it. I then needed to disappear for I wanted the world to believe in my death. I asked Fawkes to take me to the Shrieking Shack for the moment, where I waited to determine if my time to leave this planet had arrived. The potion had taken full effect, and though I believe I could have withstood that alone, I feared the additional effects of the spells would prove too much. I lay down in the Shrieking Shack to await the verdict - life or death."

Dumbledore gazed at Harry up and down, realizing how gaunt and weak the teen appeared, mentally noting it for later discussion. For the moment, however, Dumbledore knew that he must finish his tale, which neared its end.

"As you can see, I did not die. In fact, in a few hours I felt just slightly better, and I managed to call for Winky."

"The house elf?" Harry asked with surprise, as if he knew any wizards or witches by that name.

The old man smirked, "Yes, the house elf, she had secretly been helping me through the year, and I knew that only she could help me now."

"But weren't you taking the chance that Winky would tell someone," Harry reasoned, "since she is a free elf?" Harry knew much more about house elves having spent so much time with Dobby.

Dumbledore hesitated a moment contemplating his answer, "I had taken measures to assure that this would not happen. She could not . . ."

"You made her your slave, didn't you?" Harry asked, though without any hint of accusation that Dumbledore would have expected. The headmaster rarely found himself surprised by anything at his advanced age, but Harry's question caught him off guard.

He decided to answer truthfully, "Yes, Harry, I made her my slave, but with her consent. Winky, as you know, had become terribly unhappy with her status as a free elf, and, . . . . May I ask why you are chuckling about the enslavement of a house elf?" Indeed, Harry did chuckle, in fact he struggled to prevent full from-the-gut laughter.

He gathered himself after a few moments and explained, "I'm not laughing at that, sir, just at the irony of it all. You see, I made Dobby my slave a few months ago for the same reason - so that he could not be forced to talk. It was Dobby's idea," Harry continued, suddenly feeling a need to defend himself, "I never would have done it otherwise." Dumbledore smiled too at this news.

"Undoubtedly an extremely wise decision for the two of you, for I know that Dobby desired nothing more than to serve you. In my case, Winky exhibited extremely self-destructive behavior, and I thought that by enslaving her, she would be much happier and I would have assistance from an extremely capable elf. Do not forget that Winky, despite her appearance at Hogwarts, was known as one of the finest house elves in all of Britain while in the service of the Crouches."

"You don't need to convince me, sir. I have nothing but admiration for house elves, and for Dobby in particular. He has been a tremendous help to me"

"Yes, well," Dumbledore stuttered, trying to get back on track, "where was I? Oh yes, Winky helping me at the Shrieking Shack. For several days, Winky tended to me there, but I realized that I needed to move to a more secure location. I was extremely weak, and frankly in and out of consciousness. Without Winky's care, I most certainly would have died, though of course she tried to convince me to see a healer. This I refused, for I knew that if I survived, as a dead man to the world I could accomplish much. I agreed to allow fate to determine the outcome. Winky found temporary accommodations in an unused wizard's home. In fact, if you must know, we occupied the former home of Barty Crouch. Fawkes moved me there, and I slowly recuperated from the combined effects of the potion, the spells, and my preexisting old age." Dumbledore's smile remained familiar to Harry, despite the new visage of his mentor.

His wand refilling both glasses, Dumbledore pressed on with his tale, "I need not bore you with the details of my recovery, suffice it to say that I suffered great pain and discomfort. More than once I thought my final day had arrived, but I deceived fate once more. My condition improved substantially three weeks ago. I cut my hair and shaved my beard (though after a few days, I had to grow something on my face, thus the goatee), and rented this muggle apartment in London. For now, Harry, I am living as a muggle, and I wish to remain dead to the wizarding world. As far as our struggle is concerned, I have been absent and useless, but I am sure you have not. It is now my hope that I may be of assistance to you in my invisible state." Dumbledore took a deep drink from his glass, apparently satisfied with his tale.

Gazing at Harry, he changed the subject, "You appear thin and weak, Harry, I am sure many things have happened since my unfortunate demise."

"Where to start?" Harry began, and over the next hours, he filled in Dumbledore on many of the happenings of the summer and fall. When he described the destruction of Hufflepuff's cup, Dumbledore sat in rapt attention, often nodding his head, and demonstrating great concern at Harry's understated description of his week in a coma.

"Yes," he nodded to himself, "That is consistent with my theory."

The professor displayed special pleasure at Harry's unplanned speech at Diagon Alley in August.

"You performed a great service for Hogwarts, Harry. I have no doubt that your words influenced many to enrol."

"Well, yes, they did, though I still don't understand why," Harry reflected as he stood to stretch his legs for a moment, "Why should it make any difference what I do?"

"There is no good answer to that question, Harry," Dumbledore answered, "As you know, I have been a public figure in the magical world for a number of decades, and for many years I resented the attention given to my words. As the years passed, I simply learned to accept the fact, and to choose my words carefully when in a public setting. I would advise you to do so as well, though it seems you chose your words especially well on this occasion."

Buoyed by the praise of the headmaster, Harry continued with his comings and goings. The next topic of conversation involved Regulus Black and Amelda Barlow, and Harry described their conversation in some detail, causing Dumbledore to search his memory. Harry conveniently omitted any explanation of how he had come to know of her.

"Of course, I remember Regulus quite well, an unassuming boy, unlike his brother. But Amelda Barlow . . . , I must confess that I cannot picture her at all, though the name seems vaguely familiar. After all, I must have read it numerous times on Hogwarts forms, yet I have no memory of her. But as we know, Harry, anonymity has its advantages."

"Well, she sure helped us, because she had Slytherin's locket," Harry concluded, to Dumbledore's great surprise.

"Mrs. Barlow had the locket?" the old man repeated, scratching his small goatee, "I most certainly did not foresee that. Sometimes, Harry, we must depend on fortune." Dumbledore's bright smile vanished when he returned his gaze to a downcast Harry. "I take it that the destruction of the locket did not proceed as well as the cup?"

Harry inhaled deeply and shook his head, "No it didn't. It almost killed me in two seconds. Pain like I've never felt before, right after I opened it on my chest. I was sure I died, that my heart had been ripped right out of me. Even now, I don't know how I survived it."

Dumbledore's eyes betrayed his pride as he stated flatly, "I am sure few wizards would have."

Again the headmaster paid special attention to the smallest details of Harry's battle with the locket, asking Harry questions about seemingly unimportant matters. He clapped happily when Harry described his final defeat of the horcrux.

"Yes, we have discussed it often. Voldemort cannot survive love, his Achilles heal. His ultimate demise will be a result of this, I am positive." He glanced back at Harry expecting to see a look of triumph, only to be stunned by the pain on the young wizard's face.

"What happened, Harry?"

The young man paused a long time before responding, "I died." Dumbledore did not answer, not understanding Harry's meaning - died physically, emotionally, spiritually?

"I stopped breathing. Earlier Hermione sent Ron to Hogwarts for Madam Pomfrey, so Hermione was alone with me. I had passed out by then, so I don't remember anything. But they tell me that I stopped breathing and that I had no pulse. Ron and Madam Pomfrey were still ten or fifteen minutes away, so Hermione did the only thing she could think of."

"She performed Cardio-Pulmonary Resuscitation, correct?" asked the old man.

"Yes, how did you know? She really didn't even know how to do it; she'd never had a CPR class or anything. She just punched me in the chest and pumped, and luckily she brought me back to life. By all rights, I should be dead right now." Harry's eyes had focused on the carpet between his feet, but he leaned all the way back on the sofa, linking his fingers behind his head. "I was as good as dead for about a week, and I'm still recovering, still very weak, and that was a month ago. So now I'm just doing nothing but waiting to heal. I'm just wasting time!" Dumbledore stared seriously at Harry, eyes narrowed.

"Several things need to be noted, Harry. Firstly, you have accomplished more in two months than I have in ten years. You must not be discouraged. We are making excellent progress. However, I am deeply concerned at the toll these battles have taken on you, for you have had to battle the most deadly of the horcruxes, if my theory is correct. Your recovery is of utmost importance, Harry. You are not wasting time! Any army after a great battle must pull back in order to replace casualties and regroup. That is what you are doing at this time, and you must not feel that this is a waste of time." Harry nodded his understanding.

"At least Voldemort has been laying low. Nobody seems to know why."

"Ah, well I cannot be sure, of course, but I do have an idea. Voldemort, you see, for all his bravado is something of a coward. As you have experienced, he only attacks when he is sure he has a clear advantage, either in numbers, surprise, experience. He will have realized that I may not have died. If I were deceased, the wards should have fallen at Hogwarts. The fidelius charm on Grimmauld Place should have disappeared. I am quite sure that an attempt on the castle and perhaps on your home were made, but both would have failed. Voldemort is also paranoid. Simply put, Harry, he suspects a trap. However, I would not expect him to wait much longer. No, I am surprised that he has not acted by now. I am hopeful that at some point contact can be made with Severus, as he can provide us with extremely valuable information."

Harry had not been able to raise the subject of Snape, and had managed to avoid any mention of the traitor. Professor Dumbledore would be devastated, he knew, by proof of Snape's treachery, and Harry just could not tell him. But he now had no choice.

"Professor," he mouthed reluctantly, "we have made contact with Professor Snape."

At Dumbledore's astonished expression and reaction to Harry's long face, the young man returned to that night in August that he had passed over previously. He omitted a few of the more graphic details, but made clear that Snape had lied, that under the effects of veritaserum he had sworn his allegiance to Lord Voldemort, that he had fooled Dumbledore for more than a decade.

Harry could hardly bear to look at the face of his devastated mentor. At first the headmaster asked questions, seeking additional detail in an attempt to dispute the indisputable, but as the story unfolded and Snape's true loyalties had been proved conclusively, Dumbledore looked like a child who has been told that Christmas had been cancelled.

"You have done well," he managed to mutter, attempting with all his might to hide his disappointment, "I must admit that I feel the fool. A complete and utter fool!" He shook his head again. "I still find it difficult to accept, though I know I must. What damage have I done! All these years, Voldemort knew all of our plans." He threw his head into his hands in despair.

The headmaster leaned his head back, gazing at the white ceiling, explaining, "I trusted Severus completely. Now I can see how important it was to Voldemort to place a spy in our midst. Severus provided us with extremely sensitive information that led to the capture of several of Voldemort's most trusted lieutenants. Voldemort sacrificed them; now I understand. I could not comprehend that he would sacrifice so much. He apparently also allowed Severus to take the wizard's vow, meaning that he could not directly damage the Order of the Phoenix. My incredible stupidity, Harry, was in thinking that Voldemort still retained human values, that he would not willingly sacrifice so many of his dearest supporters. To me, loyalty is a value of greatest importance; to Voldemort, loyalty means nothing. I repeat, I have been a fool!"

"What can I say?" Harry desperately thought, for the suffering of his mentor broke his heart. In the end, he remained silent. Dumbledore soon sat back and mastered his emotions, noticing the concern on Harry's face.

"Do not worry for this old man, Harry," Dumbledore requested with a forced smile as he noted Harry's preoccupation, "for I have made more mistakes in my life than I care to remember. This happens to be one of the largest, but we must accept our imperfections and move on. At least we are aware of the true state of affairs, and Voldemort is denied his source of information. Let us use this to our advantage."

"I'm at a dead end, though," complained Harry despairingly, "We've destroyed the two horcruxes we knew about, but Nagini is the only other one we know, if in fact it is a horcrux, and I don't know if I can get to it without facing Voldemort. The snake is always around him. And . . . ." Harry's voice trailed off.

"Something is bothering you, my dear boy. It has been since you first sat down. Why don't you tell me now, since we have exchanged our fascinating tales of adventure," Dumbledore requested with a wink. Harry did not smile back.

"I can't do it again, sir. I can't take on another horcrux. When I sat on the bed with the locket around my neck, I almost couldn't do it. They have affected me. I don't feel like I'm the same person I was just a few months ago." Harry could not say the next thing on his mind, but the professor understood anyway.

"You think you are turning dark. Am I correct, Harry?" The young man nodded affirmatively. The professor stood up and slowly paced the room, deep in thought. Returning to his chair, he eyed Harry for several moments before speaking.

"That the horcruxes have permanently affected you, I have no doubt, both physically and emotionally. Recall that I also have destroyed a horcrux, and I too felt its effects." He lifted his withered arm. "But I believe you misunderstand the effects of the horcruxes." Harry replaced Dumbledore in pacing the small room while listening to the older man's theories.

"The horcrux wants to take over your soul, Harry. That is all it wants; nothing else matters to it. The horcrux does not wish to damage your soul, or kill it, for if your soul is dead, the horcrux cannot possess it. No, Harry, I am quite sure that your soul has not been damaged. You are not turning dark."

"But how can you be sure, sir? I mean, I just feel that something is different inside of me. There's a heavy weight inside of me all the time. Little things make me angry. I don't care about things I ought to care about." Harry shook his head, realizing that he could not find the words to express what he truly felt.

"And I should be astonished if you did not feel these changes," Dumbledore interjected, and stood up to move closer to him, "I have seen many wars, Harry, both wizard and muggle. For various reasons, I witnessed both of the great muggle wars, World Wars One and Two, up close. The men who returned from those wars were not the same men who boarded the ships for the continent. They carried with them a darkness that remained with them for the rest of their days. I too have that darkness, Harry, for I have done many terrible things during my life, just as you have been forced to do terrible things. Not wrong things; not evil things, but terrible things. Do you understand the difference?"

Harry nodded. He had done terrible things. And he would have to do more.

"Eventually, most of those men returned home to their families and lived happy lives, but the darkness stayed with them. I have killed a man, Harry. More than one man. My actions were necessary and justified. My actions were not crimes and in fact were committed for the benefit of the wizarding world, yet those actions have darkened my soul for decades. But I did not turn to the dark, nor will you. You will never be the same person that you were, nor will you ever become the person that you would have been had you not been burdened with your destiny. But believe an old man who has seen much, you will adjust. You can be happy. You will not become a dark wizard."

"Happy?" Harry silently wondered if he even knew what the word meant. "I am not destined to be happy," he thought to himself, but his voice remained mute.

Finally he gathered his courage and spoke his true fear, "I understand your point, sir, but those men did not have a piece of Lord Voldemort's soul inside of them." Dumbledore heard these words and gazed sadly at the boy.

"You may be correct, Harry, though no one knows the exact effects of Voldemort's attempt to kill you sixteen years ago. Something of Tom transferred to you; we have discussed this point often. But your fear is misplaced. You have lived with Voldemort's presence, whatever it is, for many years, and you have done more good in your short life than most men accomplish in a life of my length. Of one thing I am sure: Voldemort's presence inside of you is not a horcrux nor anything of that nature. It is perhaps an echo of a soul, or an imprint, but it is not a horcrux."

"But what effect have these other horcruxes had on me? Something is different, not just a darkness in my soul. I feel physically different. Magically different."

"In what way?"

"Well, for one thing, I can now perform advanced magic almost without trying. It just seems that my abilities increased suddenly after I destroyed the cup. But beyond that," Harry scratched his head searching for the right words, "I feel like there is a foreign presence inside of me. I don't know how else to say it." The professor fingered his snow white goatee.

"Perhaps the presence of Voldemort's shadow or echo inside of you contributes to this feeling of yours, Harry, and I cannot rule out the possibility that the intrusion of the two horcruxes has enhanced that feeling, and inadvertently increased your magical abilities. Magic is not an exact science; much about it will never be understood. As you related to me, you also visited your parents' grave on your birthday, and I am certain that the latent protection in the graves further enhanced your magical maturity. You have always been a talented wizard, Harry, more than you understood in the past. I am quite confident that your soul is yours. Your thoughts, mind, body, and emotions have most certainly been damaged by your recent battles, as would be expected, but these are injuries which will heal in time."

"But how much time do I have, Professor?" Harry replied impatiently, "Voldemort will attack soon, for some reason I am sure of it. I don't want to wait, but I don't want to act either. I'm not sure what I want."

"Patience, Harry. We have often spoken of it. You have advanced our cause more than you understand over these few months, but you have paid the price," Dumbledore answered with a stern expression, "You must heal now. Physically and emotionally." Checking his watch, he realized that many hours had passed.

"It is nearly one in the morning; you need to return to Hogwarts, and I need rest. I can not thank you enough for all that you have done. You are an extremely capable wizard, Harry, filled with more bravery than an entire army. But you are not inhuman; you remain subject to all the frailties of mankind."


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Girls Are a Huge Distraction

Before Fawkes returned Harry to Hogwarts, Harry asked Professor Dumbledore whether he could inform Ron and Hermione of his "rebirth." Dumbledore immediately requested that Harry refrain from doing so, in order to remain completely anonymous. Thus when Harry awoke after a short sleep the next morning, he tried to decide what he should tell his friends. They would not like it at all, Harry knew, and would accuse him of withdrawing from them, whereas in truth he would love nothing better than to shout out the news to the entire school.

Despite this lingering worry, Harry felt better than he had in months. The knowledge that Dumbledore lived lifted an enormous weight from his shoulders. Somehow Dumbledore would always know what to do. Harry had help! Every Gryffindor noticed his good nature at breakfast that morning, especially given the coldness of his recent behavior.

Chatting with her friends, Ginny instinctively looked up at Harry as he shuffled along the table to take his seat alongside Ron and Hermione. Harry returned the gaze, but instead of remaining impassive or perhaps curtly nodding, he smiled broadly at her. Taken aback by this ancient show of affection, the red head delayed a few seconds before she returned a less enthusiastic grin. Harry smiled at others at the table, which soon hissed with the sound of Gryffindors whispering to one another.

As Harry took his seat next to Hermione and across from Ron, the Head Girl whispered into his ear, "It must have gone well last night from the looks of you." Harry could not avoid smiling again. "Let's talk about it after breakfast. It's still early enough; we'll have about half an hour." Harry nodded his assent.

Breakfast that morning tasted better than Harry could ever remember, and he ate almost as much as his red-headed friend across the table.

"What did you do last night, Harry?" asked Ron, "You're eating like you haven't for a month." Again Harry grinned.

The three friends took advantage of a warmer-than-usual late October morning, walking outside to a deserted courtyard.

"So what happened, Harry? Why are you so cheerful this morning?" asked Hermione as she settled on to a stone bench, pulling her robe around herself, the temperature not being quite as warm as they thought.

"Well, the problem is that I can't really tell you," Harry began, pacing nervously in front of her, "even though I really wish I could," he quickly added. "I can tell you this. Yesterday a person contacted me and arranged our meeting. This person made me promise that I wouldn't tell anybody. I tried to be able to tell just the two of you, but he refused. He said he wouldn't talk to me unless I promised, so I had to promise. I'm really sorry, because I'd like to tell you. Please don't think that I'm trying to hide things from you." He hoped they would buy this story, which after all more or less contained the truth.

They eyed Harry warily, having battled his past attempts to hide information from them, but for some reason, they felt Harry's sincerity this time.

"OK, if you had to promise," Ron acceded, "but what did he say that has you so happy?"

"Well, it's not anything so fantastic, but this person knows a lot about horcruxes, at least as much as anyone can know, and he knew Dumbledore," Harry explained, feeling that the last statement in fact reflected the truth in the sense that Dumbledore obviously knew himself. So far he had not had to resort to a bald-faced lie. His friends could not help but notice the life in his eyes that had gone missing since the last horcrux. Whatever had happened to Harry the previous evening, they wholeheartedly supported it.

"He also has other information and knows something about Voldemort's attempt to make horcruxes. After I became convinced that he is on our side, I told him about some of the things we have done. He was really happy about it, said we did a great service to the wizarding world."

"But did he have any information about the other horcruxes?" Hermione pressed, the breeze blowing a few strands of hair across her face, "How do you know that he's really on our side?" The stiffening wind also tussled Ron and Harry's hair.

"I'm sure, Hermione, I checked him out, but I can't tell you how. Just trust me on that point," Harry responded, hoping his comrades would not press him, "and no, he doesn't have any hard information on the other horcruxes." Harry could see the puzzled expressions of his friends and knew that they were trying to determine what happened to improve Harry's demeanor so markedly.

"You're wondering why I'm happy, right? Well, I confessed my fears that Voldemort's soul is inside of me, that destroying the two horcruxes somehow weakened me. I've been afraid that each horcrux transformed me little by little closer to being another Voldemort. I thought that if I keep destroying more horcruxes, I might turn dark, because I felt something dark inside me. But he explained to me why I felt that way, and I guess it's just a huge relief to me." He stopped pacing and inhaled deeply. The others could plainly see the tension that had been released from his body.

"So that's why you've been so distant lately," Hermione exclaimed, jumping up from the bench, "we've been terribly worried. You could have told us; we know you'd never become another Voldemort. You and he are like polar opposites, like oil and water." She pulled her robe around herself even tighter. They could hear all of their robes flutter in the swirling air of the courtyard.

"I couldn't help it. After the first horcrux, I felt different, like something had changed inside of me. Then the second one just wiped me out, and I really felt different inside. I'm still weak, but now I believe I've turned a corner. He told me that I have to be patient, that I have to heal physically and emotionally, so that is what I intend to do for the next couple of weeks. Then we'll have to move on. I just hope Voldemort continues to lay low."

Throughout Harry's years at Hogwarts, Defense Against the Dark Arts had always been his favorite subject, largely due to his natural talent in that area. The class in his seventh year, however, disappointed him. McGonagall failed in her attempts to hire a full-time professor, which resulted in tag-team instruction by a series of aurors. One auror taught for one or two weeks, only to be replaced by another. They tried to follow an established curriculum, but inevitably, the level of instruction varied greatly, and the class lacked continuity. Harry often found himself daydreaming.

Such was the case during the DADA class the day after his meeting with Professor Dumbledore. Auror Phillip Clarke stood before them, a short, thin, unimpressive wizard. In fact, as the class discovered, looks can deceive, as Auror Clarke demonstrated time and again his considerable abilities. His competence as a teacher, however, did not rise to the same standard, and several students' minds wandered from the lesson, Harry's included. The image of his mentor and friend, risen from the dead, filled his mind.

"Mr. Potter, perhaps you could demonstrate for the class," a frustrated Clarke demanded.

Harry's mind jerked back to reality, and he quickly glanced at Ron sitting to his left.

"Unspoken spells," his friend whispered surreptitiously behind his hand. Harry nodded slightly and reluctantly shuffled to the front of the classroom. Two other daydreamers, a Hufflepuff witch and a Ravenclaw wizard, had also been called forward. Harry could not fail to notice the worry on their faces as they approached.

If Harry could see himself as others did, he would have understood. His black hair had grown even longer, more unruly than ever. Still gaunt and thin from the destruction of the locket, his hollow eyes combined with a few days growth on his chin created an unnerving figure. Moreover, the unlucky young witch and wizard knew they lacked Harry's abilities. They felt like cannon fodder.

"Right, Miss Santoro and Mr. Weaver, you will cast an unspoken spell at Mr. Potter, nothing worse than an expelliarmus. Mr. Potter, you will erect a shield. All without speaking of course. Ready?" The three students nodded. "On the count of three. One, two, three."

Harry flicked his wand casually, thinking "Protego." Miss Santoro and Mr. Weaver screwed their faces in supreme concentration, held their wands stiffly in front of them, and after several seconds of effort, wildly waved the short sticks while they thought "Expelliarmus" with all their might. Mr. Weaver's wand sparked but failed to emit a spell. Miss Santoro succeeded in throwing a weak spell which bounced harmlessly off Harry's sturdy shield.

"Yes, well, this does take practice," Auror Clarke commented, trying not to insult the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. "Let us reverse roles, then. Mr. Potter, you cast the unspoken expelliarmus and you two erect your shields. On the count of three."

Harry delayed intentionally for a few seconds to allow his classmates an opportunity to erect their shields. With a flick of his wand, he silently cast the expelliarmus spell. Surprising himself as much as the rest of the class, an intensely bold bolt cracked from his wand and in an instant reached the imperfect protective spells of his classmates. The power of the disarming spell easily overcame the weak shields, and the unfortunate duo flew through the air some ten feet, crashing to the floor awkwardly on their backs. Though the scene normally would have created raucous laughter, nobody even chuckled. The eyes of the class first turned left, following the flight of the witch and wizard, then turning in unison to the right, where Harry stood still, eyes wide in shock. Finally he rushed toward Miss Santoro and Mr. Weaver.

"Are you alright? I'm sorry. I didn't know it would be that strong. I just used the expelliarmus spell." As proof, he held up the two wands of the classmates which had neatly flown into his hand. Auror Clarke also rushed over to help the pair, who after taking inventory, determined that they escaped serious injury.

"Never call on Potter again," Clarke mentally noted.

Harry sheepishly returned to his seat, followed by the silent glares of his friends and classmates. Instinctively he searched for Hermione, who upon locking eyes with her friend, changed her worried expression to a reassuring smile. Harry felt a little better.

Despite his performance in DADA, the fact of the matter remained that his friends greatly preferred the new Harry to the old one. They generally found him in a good mood, he more or less paid attention in class, and even read his books occasionally. On October 29th, Ron reminded him of the Halloween Ball in two days.

"Are you going to the ball, Harry?" For some reason he looked nervous, and Harry examined him closely.

"Hadn't thought about it," answered Harry warily, "I guess not. I haven't asked anyone, and it's late now, I think. I won't mind missing it this year."

"Are you sure? I think some girls are still available," Ron pressed on, fidgeting with his hands. Harry knew a set-up when he saw one.

"OK, Ron. Tell me what's going on. Obviously you've been sent here on a job. Who is it?"

Ron sighed and confessed, "Ginny. Nobody has asked her because they're all afraid that you'll be upset, and frankly nobody wants to see what you'll do when you're upset. Especially after your performance in DADA the other day."

"Did she put you up to this or Hermione?" Harry asked, beginning to see the full picture.

"Both of them. They've been talking a lot, and they cornered me. I didn't want to do it; told them to talk to you themselves," Ron defended himself, "but they said it would be better if I did it." The two boys pushed away the Transfiguration essays they had just begun.

Harry stared at his friend from across the common room table, considering his options. In truth, he had no desire to attend the dance, not with Ginny or any other Hogwarts female. On the other hand, he felt badly for Ginny that none of the other cowardly boys had asked her, for he knew that going to the ball would be important to her. Switching back to the first hand, he realized that Ginny would consider Harry taking her as a sign that they would reunite as a couple, and Harry most certainly did not wish to send that message.

"No girls!" he muttered to himself softly, not realizing that Ron could hear.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean I can't do it. Now is not the right time. I can't be distracted from what I have to do, Ron, and let me tell you, girls are a huge distraction," Harry emphasized knowingly, pointing his finger at his best mate, "I feel bad for Ginny, but if I take her, she's going to want to get together again, and I'm not ready for that." Harry said this with a firmness in his voice greater than the firmness in his heart.

"Nothing says you can't have a bit of fun, Harry. You don't have to act the tortured hero twenty-four hours a day. If you don't want to go with Ginny, go with someone else." Ron relaxed slightly, feeling that he had performed his task and could not be blamed for Harry's response.

"I'm not sure any of the other girls would want to go with me the way I look right now, and they probably all have dates anyway," Harry considered. He looked at Ron and the obvious question came to his mind, "Who are you taking?" Ron shifted uncomfortably again, the tension in his muscles reappearing instantly.

"Well, I asked Hermione, since I couldn't think of anyone else and because of my screw-up back in fourth year with Krum and all. Nobody had asked her, so she said OK." Ron's attempt to sound nonchalant about the whole affair did not fool his best mate.

"That's good," Harry responded with a forced smile. His brain agreed with his statement, and he told himself to ignore the pang of nausea that surged unexpectedly in his stomach. "I'm sure you'll have a good time. Don't worry about me, I'll find something to do. And do me a favor, tell the others that they can ask Ginny, that I won't do anything. Maybe Neville could ask her." His stomach rumbled again.

Harry's destruction of the carefully laid plot of the two primary females in his life greatly reduced his popularity with the pair. Especially livid, Ginny threw Harry fiery gazes from afar, but completely ignored Harry on the few occasions they neared each other. Hermione, on the other hand, did not mind expressing her thoughts verbally.

"I just don't understand you, Harry. What would be the harm in taking Ginny to the ball? There's nothing that says you two have to hate each other." She had cornered Harry in the hall, then diverting him to a deserted hall. The two friends, both clearly upset, glared at each other.

"Look, I don't hate Ginny, and you know it." Harry responded heatedly, doing his best to keep his cool, "I just don't think it's a good idea for us to go together. You know as well as I that Ginny wants me to be more than her dancing partner."

"If you make it clear to her, I'm sure she would understand." The Head Girl stood several inches shorter than Harry, but when enraged, she seemed taller in some way.

"Come on, Hermione, you know that's not true." Hermione's silence conceded that argument. She pressed her lips together in irritation, and narrowed her eyes.

She moved to her next point, "It's just unfair that Ginny can't go to the dance because every boy is afraid that you'll hex them into a coma. The least you could do is take her so that she can go. Maybe a ball means nothing to you, but it means a lot to a girl like Ginny."

"I can't help it if this school is filled with a bunch of cowards," Harry retorted hotly, barely keeping his cool, "I told Ron to spread the word that it's OK. That's all I'm going to do!" He quickly scanned up and down the hallway to make sure that nobody could overhear them.

Hermione finally got down to the real issue, "But what's so bad about getting together with Ginny again, Harry. I think it would be good for the both of you. You need someone to comfort you, someone you can talk to about things." The tone of her voice had changed from irritation to pleading.

Indeed Harry often recalled his brief months with Ginny as his "official" girlfriend, and most definitely he remembered the benefits to it. Yet something inside of Harry warned him not to surrender to these urges.

Increasingly irritated, he countered, "We've been through this before, Hermione, it makes no sense for me to be with anyone until it's all over. I have to remain focused. I can't be worried about a girlfriend's constant needs."

The irritation returned to Hermione's voice, "Oh come on Harry, having a girlfriend wouldn't keep you from fighting Voldemort. What's the worst that could happen?" Harry finally reached his limit.

"You want to know the worst that could happen? Alright, I'll tell you." Harry responded, moving forward a few inches, his eyes wide with intensity. "I COULD BE KILLED BY LORD VOLDEMORT, that's the worst that can happen. And then you know what will happen, Voldemort will take over, and the wizarding world will go straight to hell! And you know what else, he'll kill Ginny, Ron and you. And probably all my friends. So what do you think, should I risk all that just to go to dancing with a FORMER girlfriend who wants to remove the 'FORMER.' If you can find someone to take care of Voldemort for me, I'll be happy to take Ginny and every girl in Hogwarts to every ball for the next hundred years!"

As he continued with his finger-pointing rant, he moved closer to Hermione's face so that she could see the redness in his cheeks, and the veins in his temples. She knew when to give up.

"OK Harry, let's not argue anymore. I argue enough with Ron."

"FINE!," Harry shot back not immediately recognizing Hermione's conciliatory tone. Once he did, he lowered his voice and added, "I mean, right, let's not argue. And actually Ron and you haven't been arguing that much lately." He took a step back, breathing deeply in an attempt to regain his calm.

Hermione bit her lower lip and turned to the side, and Harry knew something bothered her. Since the last word spoken involved Ron, Harry guessed that the red head must be the source of Hermione's nerves. Should he ask about it, he wondered. Part of him did not want to know the extent of their relationship, but curiosity is a powerful force.

Finally he gave in as he asked as calmly as he could, "What's bothering you?"

She almost said, "Nothing," but caught herself. Instead she stared down the hall, away from Harry's eyes, and asked, "You know that Ron is taking me to the ball, right?"

"Yeah, he told me. I hope you have fun." Hermione failed to respond within a normal length of time, so Harry added, "Is there something wrong with Ron taking you? Aren't you happy about it?" He studied the side of her face intently, but she would not turn towards him.

"I don't know whether I'm happy or not, Harry, that's the problem. It's just . . . , oh, I don't know if I should be discussing this with you," she fretted, her face creased with lines of frustration.

"Look, if you don't want to, that's OK. Don't tell me if you think you shouldn't," Harry responded chivalrously, though by now he was dying to know.

"Well, if I can't tell you I can't tell anyone, and I need to talk about it," Hermione decided, for she wanted to talk about it as much as Harry wanted to hear it. Tilting her head downwards, she proceeded, "I think you know that Ron has kind of liked me for awhile." Harry nodded. "Well, he wants us to be together, you know, officially, like Ginny and you were last year. And I'm not sure I want that. I mean, I like Ron a lot, but . . . Well, like you say, things are complicated right now, and I'm not sure it's a good idea." She shifted nervously and refused to turn towards her best friend.

Harry more or less expected this, without knowing the details, but hearing it from his best friend still jarred him. He should have had no reason not to want Ron and Hermione to "be together," but he realized nonetheless that selfishly he did not. Afraid that he would say the wrong thing, he remained mute.

"I just worry about how that might affect the three of us. We have something so important to do, and now I feel silly worrying about frivolous things like boyfriends and balls. I guess I understand you after all, Harry. Maybe I should just wait until it's all over, like you said." At last Hermione lifted her gaze and turned towards Harry, staring intently at him, expecting a response.

"Hermione, I can't make up your mind about something like that. What I said before applies to me; it's how I need to be," Harry responded with a wave of his arm. Maybe Ron and you are different. I don't know. No way would I tell you not to be together if that's what you want. That's not my decision. I'll support you either way," Harry explained magnanimously, even though deep down he hoped that she would reject Ron's advances. He would prefer their relations to remain the same for a while longer.

"Thanks, Harry," Hermione smiled, an expression of relief on her face, "that means a lot to me." Apparently she read more into his statement than he intended. The Head Girl gazed thoughtfully at Harry for a moment before adding, "You know, I've never had a boyfriend, not really. I don't consider Krum a boyfriend, even though I think Ron thought we were practically married. I'm a girl, Harry, I'm eighteen years old! I'd like to have a boyfriend too sometime. For some reason, I thought it would be easier. More obvious. Maybe I'm just thinking too much, that's what the other girls say, but thinking is what I do best."

"Are you asking me for advice, Hermione? Because if you are, don't! I'm the last person to ask. Cho was a disaster, and I still don't know why. Ginny may have lasted longer but hasn't exactly worked out very well. I'm about as clueless as they come." Hermione smiled.

"You really are clueless about some things, you know. If you could hear what the girls say about you in the loo or dormitories, well, you might have a bit more confidence."

"I don't think I want to know. It scares me just to think about it." Harry joked, "Besides, I'm downright ugly right now after that last horcrux - thin as a rail, hollow eyes, and all. You're the one who tells me that."

"Believe me, Harry, Romilda Vane doesn't think your eyes are a problem. In fact, you may want to shave more often if you want to keep her from having another go at the love potion," Hermione teased, enjoying the discomfort this caused Harry, "I warned you about the effect of that two-day beard."

Harry's decision not to attend the Halloween Ball remained firm, largely because he recognized the opportunity to use that time for another purpose - to visit Professor Dumbledore again. This thought more than compensated for the lost opportunity to dance with a lot of nicely dressed, pretty girls. Moreover, the farther away he stayed from Ginny, who remained steaming mad, the safer Harry would be.

This time, Harry decided to leave Hogwarts without informing anyone, as he knew the entire school would be preoccupied with the upcoming ball. Already at three in the afternoon, the girls began making their way to their dormitories to commence their tortuous preparations. Harry had a roll of parchment in front of him, supposedly writing an essay for Charms. As he predicted, the Gryffindor common room reverberated with noise, and Harry quite reasonably informed anyone listening that he needed to find a nice quiet place to study.

The hallways abandoned, Harry could have called for Fawkes right there in front of the common room, but he decided to slip into an empty classroom. Fawkes appeared at his call, and in a few minutes, Harry once again stood in Dumbledore's small flat.

"Professor," he called, not seeing anyone, "It's Harry."

"Just a moment, Harry, I'll be right out." Harry noted that Dumbledore's voice sounded shaky, and indeed when he walked out of his bedroom, the professor hunched over a cane, laboriously making his way down the hall.

"Are you OK, sir," Harry asked with concern, as the old man slowly limped into the kitchen.

"I have had better days, Harry, but this is the ultimate price of a long life. Let us sit here at the table." They each took a seat around the small breakfast table to the side of the muggle kitchen, Dumbledore easing his way into the unarmed chair gingerly. He managed a half smile, half grimace. "It is a pleasure to see you again, Harry, you seem to be regaining your health."

"Thank you, sir, I am feeling much better, almost back to normal."

"Tonight is Halloween, Harry. Hogwarts still allows the traditional ball, does it not? Or has Minerva decided that such frivolities must cease?"

"Yes, there is the ball. All the girls are preparing themselves right now. But I'm not going to it this year," Harry added. Dumbledore gazed at the young man with a hint of worry.

"I can only guess that there must be some problems of a female nature for you to skip the ball. As I recall, you enjoyed them well enough in past years."

"Well, I don't know about that, sir, but you are right, I do have some 'female problems' as you put it. I decided that it would be better to avoid the whole thing," Harry explained.

"Yes, yes, the adventures of youth, Harry. Believe it or not, I suffered them too, in an entirely different world, of course, well over one hundred years ago." Dumbledore's eyes slightly glazed from his memories. "But I do not believe you have come to discuss our respective loves lives."

"No," Harry laughed, enjoying the peculiar humor of the headmaster, "I just thought this would be a good time to see you again, since the school will be occupied with the ball. There are a few things that I wanted to ask you."

"Excellent, Harry, but I do hate to discuss business on an empty stomach. Could you do me the favor of handing me the telephone." Dumbledore took the phone and punched in a number by memory, and to Harry's enormous surprise, he ordered a pizza from a local muggle restaurant. "Pizza is one of the great delicacies of the muggle world, Harry, and I shall be most honored to have you consume it with me."

Harry smiled, "You are talking my language, sir. Every teenager loves pizza."

The old man shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Harry thought the living room would be more comfortable for him.

"Let's move to the sitting room, sir," Harry ordered more than suggested, as he stood and helped Dumbledore rise. After assisting the professor to the chair, the old man pulled out his wand.

"It's a bit chilly in here, Harry. I think I'll light a fire."

Quickly scanning the room to be sure, Harry noted, "There's no fireplace here, sir."

"Ah, yes, but Harry, we are wizards," and he grasped his wand making a large swish with a hook while stating, "SITIUS INCENDIO." Harry saw a beautiful fireplace appear for a moment on the far wall, only to vanish in a second.

Harry stood astonished. He had never seen Dumbledore fail to perform a spell successfully, and more than ever he realized the depth of his mentor's illness.

"Let me try, sir. I've never heard that spell." Giving his wand a casual flick, he repeated the incantation while visualizing a miniature version of the Gryffindor common room fireplace. In an instant the fireplace appeared. Harry again flicked his wand and without saying a word a blazing fire crackled. The professor admired Harry's spellwork, and beaming at his protege, he nodded his thanks.

"It appears the tables have turned," the frail wizard admitted sadly, "but as you can see, I am no longer the wizard that I used to be." His expression turned serious, as his blue eyes engaged Harry's green, "You can see that I am not well, Harry. Let us be clear about it, I am dying. Hopefully the final day is still some time away, and I believe I can still be of assistance to you. I'm afraid that any help I can provide, however, must be of the mental variety. You will not be seeing me dueling in the Ministry again."

Harry worked hard to suppress the lump in his throat.

"Please let me know if there is anything I can do for you, Professor. I'd be happy to help in any way."  
Dumbledore chuckled, "You have enough on your plate, Mr. Potter, do not add another worry to your collection. Rest assured that I am quite comfortable and at peace. Now, if I am not mistaken, I believe there is something on your mind which you wish to discuss."

Harry paused, averting his gaze from the headmaster. He did not know how best to ask his question. His ideas seemed farfetched, even to himself, and he figured the professor would doubt Harry's sanity, but no other strategies had presented themselves.

He felt he needed to begin with a preamble, "I've been thinking things over, Professor. I know you think that Nagini is a horcrux, but we need a way to be sure. I mean, I don't want you to think that I don't believe you . . . "

"Now is not the time to worry about sensitivities, Harry. You are quite correct that I may be incorrect. Go on."

"So, I've been thinking about how we can be sure, and I had an idea. It may be a stupid idea, but I'm thinking that if I could learn how to possess an animal, like a snake, I could possibly get close to Nagini, and since I can speak and understand Parseltongue, I could talk to it and try to figure out if it is a horcrux or not." Harry cringed as the words escaped his mouth, for the idea sounded more farfetched out loud than it did in the confines of his mind. Dumbledore narrowed his eyes, deep in thought.

"Possession of animals is considered borderline dark magic, Harry, though I certainly agree that we must explore all options. Your suggestion has some merit, though surely you already are aware of the danger involved. On top of that, not every wizard is able to possess animals, though I would wager that you can. Possession of snakes is said to be especially difficult. Again, given your special affinity with snakes, I deem it probable that you would be able. Then there is the question of locating Voldemort, and as a result, Nagini."

"That kind of leads to my next question, Professor." If his last suggestion neared the edge, this one jumped right off the cliff. "Do you think you could teach me Legilimancy and Occlumancy? I've been . . ."

"Ah, you've finally reached that idea," Dumbledore interrupted, "I wondered when you would. You are thinking of using your scar to enter Voldemort's mind, correct?"

Harry nodded, "I know that it sounds crazy, but I've actually made contact with him twice now, but only for a fraction of a second so that he hasn't realized it yet. At least he hasn't tried to enter my mind again." Harry paced to the window, and pulled open the curtain slightly to spy the street below. "I can enter his mind, I know it, sir, but I don't know what to do when I get there. And once he knows that I've done it, he'll come after me with a vengeance, so I have to be ready." He turned back to face the professor. "I think Snape purposely didn't teach me right; he didn't want me to learn Occlumancy. If you teach me, maybe I can do it well enough."

For once, Professor Dumbledore did not bother to correct Harry's failure to say the word, "professor" before Snape's name. The old man ran the fingers of his good hand through his short white hair, his mind conflicted. He repeatedly arched his eyebrows, and Harry stood nervously awaiting his response. If the professor would not agree, he did not have any alternative plans in mind.

Finally he responded, "I will teach you, Harry, for these are two disciplines that you ought to know regardless, and possession of animals too. However I will do so only on the condition that you do not attempt to enter Lord Voldemort's mind, if ever, until I give you my blessing. Is that agreed?"

The Boy Who Lived nodded his assent with a broad smile, for he had feared Dumbledore would refuse him.

"Of course, Professor, so long as you will not withhold your blessing unreasonably." Dumbledore nodded as well, at which time the doorbell rang.

"Ah, Harry, the pizza has arrived."


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

You Know Who Is Back

The evening with his mentor, and now teacher, passed wonderfully, and Harry once again found himself awed by the old man's knowledge and mastery of magic. Though Harry's magical abilities had increased tremendously over the past few months, he soon discovered that Legilimancy and Occlumency depended more on strength of mind and ability to concentrate. Harry had plenty of the former, but struggled with his concentration. Extraneous thoughts kept breaking his focus, and his frustration increased, though Dumbledore constantly reassured him.

His last words to Harry summarized his message: "Patience and practice."

Arriving back at Hogwarts, thanks to Fawkes, a tired Harry returned to an empty common room, looking forward to a date with his pillow. The younger students had already gone to bed, and the older ones remained at the Halloween Ball. He took a few steps towards his dormitory when he noticed that the common room was not quite empty, for Ginny sat glumly close to the fire. Of course she saw Harry enter, but she did not move a muscle, staring vacantly into the fire. Harry stood still for a few moments before deciding that he should sit by the fire himself.

Ginny glanced briefly at the young wizard, but immediately focused back on the flames. She had already dressed for bed, though Harry could only see the lower part of her red pajamas beneath the white robe she had tied around her midsection. Her recently washed hair no longer contained any pins or other restraints but hung naturally down to her shoulders, and a little below.

"Didn't go to the Ball?" Harry asked, breaking the silence. Ginny merely shook her head. "I'm sorry about that, Ginny, I hoped someone would ask you. I know you enjoy dancing." Ginny remained silent with an empty expression on her face, staring into the fire.

Harry waited a moment to allow her the opportunity to speak, but when she did not, he tried a different tack, "So are you going to tell me what an insensitive git I am for not asking you, or are you just going to sit there?" A trace of anger could be heard in his voice.

Again, Ginny merely shook her head but remained silent. Harry stared at her a bit longer, the fire light flickering in her red hair, until certain that she did not plan to speak.

He stood abruptly and commented sarcastically, "Well, I'm glad we had this little talk. We'll have to do it again sometime."

Taking a couple of steps towards his bed, Ginny softly broke her silence, "Don't go. I'm sorry I'm not talking. I'm just depressed right now." Harry turned around and settled into the chair again, staring at the fire.

"Depressed because of the ball?"

She nodded, "Partly because of that. I would have liked to go, you know that, but it's too late for that now. But it's more than that; I just feel like nothing is going the way I want it to now. Nothing is right!"

After a brief laugh, Harry responded, "I know how that feels. I 've been feeling it for seventeen years."

She looked at him with surprise, not expecting that answer.

"I guess you're right. It's easy to forget that you've had a lot of bad things happen to you."

"It's not easy for me to forget."

"I know. But on the other hand, you're rich and famous, powerful, handsome. Every girl in Hogwarts wants to cuddle up with you, if you want to know the truth." She shifted in her chair, bending her legs under her.

"I'd give it all away if I could get out of doing what I have to do. But I can't. You understand that, don't you?" Harry asked. She nodded. "And I'm not looking to cuddle up with any girls, OK?" Ginny smiled - not a forced smile but a genuine one.

"I'm sorry I've put pressure on you, Harry. I can only guess what you have to do, but Hermione talked to me yesterday and today, and I know I shouldn't have done what I did last summer. Don't worry about me, OK? You have enough to worry about?"

Suddenly all the reasons why Harry liked Ginny in the first place came flooding back to him. Why had they broken up? For what possible reason should they not be together? For a shining moment all reason left him, and he could find no reason why he should not scoop her up in his arms again and plant a kiss on her lips. But then the moment passed, and he remembered why. The second of blissful ignorance vanished, and the enormous task ahead of him reappeared. He inhaled deeply.

"I'll try not to worry, Ginny. Maybe someday all of this will be behind us. Hermione told me once that someday it will all be better. I just hope that will come true." They both stared into the fire again, lost in their thoughts.

Students began trickling through the portrait door from the ball. Harry thoughts turned to Ron and Hermione at the dance, wondering how they got along. He did not have to wait long for an answer, for the two of them walked through the door hand in hand, faces flushed. Harry knew he should not have been stunned, but stunned he was. His friends happily conversed, oblivious to Harry's presence for some time. Ginny took in the scene, sensing Harry's shock and discomfort. Would things ever be the same among them?

Hermione stood beautifully in her glittering blue gown, though her hair, which no doubt had been painstakingly prepared prior to the festivities, now frayed at the edges from dozens of dances with Ron. There could be no doubt; Ron and Hermione were now "together" in the official sense. Boyfriend and girlfriend. Harry's mind went blank, unable to perform simple addition or a first-year spell.

"I never danced so much in my life," Hermione laughed, "my feet are killing me, with these shoes." She removed two extremely uncomfortable-looking high heels, smiling from ear to ear at her first real boyfriend. Harry could feel his friends' happiness radiating through the common room, but it did not penetrate his skin.

Ron's face flushed pink from exertion and who knows what else (Harry certainly did not want to know), and he appeared dazed, perhaps disbelieving that he could finally call Hermione his girlfriend. He giggled slightly at Hermione's comment, when from the corner of his eye he glimpsed his best mate seated by the fire. Ron abruptly pulled his hand from Hermione's, whose smile vanished as she wondered what had happened. A moment later, she saw Harry too.

The most uncomfortable silence of their lives ensued, none of them having the foggiest idea of what to say or do. Harry knew that the "proper" thing would be to give his hearty congratulations to the happy couple. Fat chance of that! He had no desire to make things easy for them. Ron and Hermione knew they could not simply ignore their best friend, so they forced their way towards the fire. The common room, which moments before hummed with the activity of returning dancers, hushed, as witnesses surreptitiously watched the famous threesome from afar.

Ron, handsome in his dress robes (purchased from Harry's Triwizard Tournament winnings), shuffled his feet, incapable of speech, hoping that Hermione would think of something to say. She appeared to be deep in thought as to what to do, when Ginny decided to help out.

"Looks like you two had fun tonight."

Hermione and Ron's faces flushed red, but at least Hermione now could more naturally speak, "Yes, the ball was great, everyone had a great time. I'm exhausted from so much dancing." She pushed back a strand of hair that had fallen in her eyes.

Ron decided to jump in, "Yeah, the food was great and the band was the best they've ever had; everyone said so."

Harry's brain started functioning again, fortunately. He decided to say something innocuous that would neither encourage nor discourage the new relationship.

"I'm glad the ball was nice."

Another silence, which Harry had no intention of breaking. Ginny almost enjoyed the little drama, but something inside her wanted to bring peace and acceptance to the new reality. She decided that she needed to force the action.

"Looks like the two of you had more fun than most," she commented cheekily, "so you are together?"

The redness of Hermione's face increased to that of a ripe tomato, but she had to acknowledge the obvious, "Yes, we've decided to give it a try." She carefully avoided Harry's eyes. Ron merely nodded his agreement.

"C'mon Harry," he thought to himself, "say something nice! Be big about it. You should be happy for them. Don't be selfish!" Unfortunately he could not bring himself to say a word.

Ginny's efforts had not produced the positive results she anticipated. Harry did not cooperate, and Ron and Hermione did not elaborate. She wondered more than ever if relations among the three could be the same.

"So what did you guys do during the ball?" asked Hermione, trying desperately to change the subject.

"Oh, I did some homework, played some wizard's chess with a couple of second years, took a shower, nothing special. What were you doing, Harry? You weren't here all night," Ginny asked.

"A little of this, a little of that," Harry responded coldly, resentful of this attempt to draw him into the conversation. "I'm pretty tired now. You guys must be too," he mentioned meaningfully, "I'm going to turn in." And with that he abruptly made his way up to his room, taking the stairs two at a time.

"You're an idiot, Harry!" he berated himself while staring at the dark ceiling above his bed, "Why did you want to ruin their big event? Ron didn't ruin it for you when you kissed Ginny last year."

"True," Harry answered himself, "but Ginny was not one of us. She didn't fight the troll, or find the Philosopher's Stone, or Sirius' escape, all of that. She's not one of US."

"Nothing lasts forever, you selfish git. Get over it!"

"All right, all right, I will. Just give me a little time." As Harry drifted to an uneasy sleep, he had never felt so alone.

Over the next days, the three friends remained inseparable, daring fate to divide them, yet the awkwardness of the situation could not be avoided. Ron and Hermione carefully refrained from holding hands or other signs of affection while in Harry's presence, which seemed to be most of the time. Nonetheless, Harry could feel the anxiousness of the two friends, and he felt out of place, but every time he graciously attempted to leave them for one pretext or another, his friends would come with him. After a while, they drove him crazy. None spoke openly of their new reality.

By the end of the week, Harry had done his best to come to terms with the romantic leanings of his friends, and even envied them. He would be alone, probably for the rest of his life, which he continued to assume would come to a tragic, abrupt end. Eventually Ron and Hermione occasionally accepted Harry's attempts to leave them alone, and Harry resolved to refrain from thinking about how his two friends occupied their time together, which of course only caused him to think about it even more.

More than ever, Harry felt he was wasting his time at Hogwarts, and he seriously considered whether he should leave. He managed to squeeze in two more visits with Dumbledore for his lessons, but with the mundane requirements of homework and classes, finding time to visit the headmaster proved difficult. He resolved more than once to inform McGonagall of his decision to leave, only to lose his nerve.

Two concerns weighed on him. The Daily Prophet would undoubtedly learn of Harry's absence within a day or two, and would print a sensationalistic article about presumed reasons for his departure. Given the effect of his words in August, Harry knew that many parents would remove their children from the school. In no way did Harry want to harm Hogwarts.

Even more problematic, if he left, Ron and Hermione would come with him. Not only would that make the Prophet story even more sensational ("_Head Girl Abandons Hogwarts_"), but Harry would not be able to visit Dumbledore easily with the two of them around. He could always sneak out of Hogwarts unannounced, but the damage to the school would remain, and his two best friends would never forgive him.

As the middle of November arrived, Harry finally determined that something had to change. He had wasted far too much time. At last he settled upon an internal compromise, which led him to Professor McGonagall's office.

"Are you leaving the campus again, Mr. Potter?" the harried headmistress asked, as she scurried around her desk searching for a document.

"Actually professor, it is more than that." The document forgotten, McGonagall ceased moving and directed her gaze at Harry.

"Explain yourself please."

Harry rarely had felt so nervous, but his resolve remained firm.

"Many things have been happening lately, Professor, and I need to concentrate on them. I have two options that I can see. The first is for me to leave Hogwarts altogether. Frankly, I would prefer to follow this path, but I am aware of the damage that this would cause to Hogwarts." The headmistress' paled complexion demonstrated that McGonagall understood perfectly. "The second option, if you should agree, is that I will remain at Hogwarts but will be allowed to leave the grounds and to miss classes and exams as necessary. Without prior notice. If you cannot agree with the second option, then I will be leaving Hogwarts this evening." Harry meant every word.  
McGonagall dropped into her chair, unhappy with both proposed options. As she calculated the consequences of her decision, the ramifications became clear.

"What will Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger do if you leave Hogwarts?"

"I have not spoken with them about this. I will encourage them to stay, but I will not prevent them from coming with me if they choose. This is their fight too."

The professor knew what that meant. They would leave. She did not need to be a genius to understand immediately the catastrophic effect this would have on Hogwarts. Harry Potter and the Head Girl leave. The Prophet would have a field day like few others, and most assuredly Hogwarts would lose at least half of its student body. Her beloved Hogwarts would have to close its doors. Thus the options came down to forcing Harry to leave, in which case Hogwarts ceases to exist, or swallowing the second option.

"I appear to have little choice, Mr. Potter. But you already knew that, did you not?" Harry managed a weak smile.

"I had a pretty good idea, Professor. Please believe me when I say I receive no pleasure from this. The last thing I want to do is to hurt Hogwarts. But what I have to do is extremely important. I cannot waste any more time."

The headmistress rose from her chair and regained her composure. Harry vaguely noticed that she no longer seemed as tall as she did when Harry first arrived at Hogwarts.

"My only request, Mr. Potter, is that if and when the Daily Prophet learns of your frequent absences, you will grant an interview with the Prophet to assure the public that you remain satisfied with the security at Hogwarts." Harry nodded his consent. "Whatever you must do, Harry, I wish you the best of luck."

Hermione was of two minds when Harry informed her of the conversation with McGonagall and the fact that Harry would be away from Hogwarts more frequently. She expressed her ire that he had not consulted with Ron and her first, but Harry remained unapologetic.

"You would have tried to talk me out of it," he argued, having considered the matter in depth earlier. "My mind was made up."

"That doesn't mean you shouldn't have asked us what we thought about it."

"Why? So that you could get upset with me, lecture me, tell me I'm trying to get myself killed? I've heard it all before, Hermione. Everything you would have told me, I thought to myself. I'm healthy now, almost one hundred percent. There's no excuse to keep wasting time." Harry had prepared himself for this confrontation, and he glared intensely at his friend.

Deep down, Hermione had to admit her relief that Harry provided McGonagall with the second option, for she did not want to leave Hogwarts, not now. She held the position of Head Girl, which she found fulfilling. She had just begun a romance with Ron, still in the giddy early phases of the relationship. If Harry left Hogwarts, she would have had to go with him; she would not abandon him. She decided she had made her point and would not push it further.

"OK Harry, what's done is done. What are you going to be doing all the time?" She casually flicked a few hairs off of her shoulder. Harry noticed that she seemed to have spent more time with her hair than usual, no doubt the result of having to impress a boyfriend. Harry knew, of course, that such efforts would be largely wasted on the oblivious Ron.

"Well, among other things, I will be meeting with the person I told you about. I've met with him a couple of times, and he has helped me learn some things that may help me. Also, he thinks I should learn Occlumancy better, because he thinks Voldemort will try to attack my mind again, sooner or later. He's agreed to teach me, and he's given me two lessons. I've learned more in those two lessons than I did in all my lessons with Snape." Harry's voice betrayed his excitement, and even optimism.

"But we need to find the next horcrux, or figure out if there is another one out there. How are we going to do that?"

"I'm working on that too. But these lessons will help me I think."

Hermione eyed him warily, "You're up to something, aren't you. I know you too well. You're coming up with some super risky, super dangerous scheme. That's why you don't want to talk about it to us, right?"

Instead of denying it, his first inclination, Harry gave Hermione a big smile and grabbed her hand, laughing, "Something like that." Then before his friend could react, he rushed away.

The headmaster in Professor Dumbledore did not find pleasure in Harry's decision to cut classes at will, but the former head of the Order of the Phoenix could see the big picture. Harry began to visit the professor every day to study Legilimency (which Harry had intentionally failed to mention to Hermione), Occlumency, and possession of animals.

Dumbledore insisted that Harry master Occlumency before starting the art of mind reading. Whereas Snape's teaching method essentially involved repeated attacks on Harry's mind, Dumbledore started slowly, helping Harry learn how to clear his mind.

"Try to focus on a wall of ice, Harry, or if you prefer, a plain block wall. Focus on the ice and then let your mind enter the ice, or the wall, until you are in the middle of it. Think of it as a barrier through which any thoughts cannot penetrate."

At first, Dumbledore could have been speaking Mermish for all Harry understood, but each day he advanced. Soon Harry's wall of ice developed into the same wall each time, with chunks of rock and dirt. Dirty ice. Opaque ice. The ice was fine, but forcing himself into the middle of it proved to be virtually impossible. Every time he felt close to succeeding, he would think, "I'm almost there," at which point he lost his focus. He had to clear his mind of clearing his mind.

His teacher expressed satisfaction at Harry's progress, and the young man felt happiest when with the old man. At times Winky arrived to prepare meals and tend to the headmaster, but then she would leave the two men to themselves. In between lessons, they talked of many things, which they had never had the opportunity to discuss before. Dumbledore's health varied from day to day, but he always perked up when Harry arrived. Facing death calmly, Dumbledore took the opportunity to relate tales of his youth to Harry, who soaked in every word. Among other things, he learned of Dumbledore's family, his years at Hogwarts, and various of his studies. Surprisingly, the professor never mentioned his most acclaimed accomplishment, the defeat of the dark lord Grindelwald many years ago. It seemed to be of no importance to him.

After a few days, Harry felt comfortable enough to ask his teacher something he had often thought about.

"Sir, I understand that you never married. Why not?" Harry wondered whether he would answer or evade the question.

"Ah, well Harry, that is a simple question without a simple answer. The fact of the matter is that I had the affections of several women in my youth, but my attentions were always divided. Not until many years later did I understand that women require a great deal of effort and attention, and instinctively I knew that I could not sustain that kind of dedication. Which is not to say I did not desire marriage, for I did, but on the two occasions where I seriously considered it, I could not cast the spell, so to speak. Long ago I accepted the consequences of my decisions, Harry, and I have lived a long and interesting life. But I have been lonely."

Harry nodded in complete understanding, for his loneliness had increased since Halloween. He had only been close to two females in his life (Cho did not count in Harry's view). Now he rarely spoke with Ginny, and Hermione had occupied herself with not just any boy, but Harry's best friend.

"Maybe I'll end up like Dumbledore," he thought, "I guess that wouldn't be so bad."

As if reading his thoughts, Dumbledore added, "I doubt that you would choose a life like mine, Harry. Comparisons are made between us, I am aware, but our personalities and backgrounds are polar opposites. I was raised by a loving family and given the finest magical education. Early on I developed a love for books, research, and critical thinking. You were raised by abusive relatives who took no interest in your education and did not allow you to develop the love for learning. In reality, Harry, I am much more similar in personality and background with your great friend, Miss Granger. No, I do not believe that the solitary life of an educator is up your alley at all."

This all made sense to Harry, but it only served to deepen his sense of abandonment and loneliness, which the headmaster could not help but detect. Dumbledore remained silent, however, allowing Harry the option of talking about it or not.

Finally Harry confessed, "You're right, I think. I was never allowed books to read as a kid, except for school. Now that I think about it, I don't think I've ever read a whole book just for pleasure. And if I live, I won't want a solitary life, but that's what I have now. After you died, I mean, after your funeral, I broke up with Ginny because I knew I had to concentrate on the horcruxes. That's been tough on both of us. At least I had Ron and Hermione, but now they have gotten together at the Halloween Ball. I mean, they're still my friends, but . . . ."

"It's not the same," Dumbledore concluded, "I well understand, Harry. I was young once too. Perhaps a story from my distant past will be of some comfort to you. During my years at Hogwarts, I became great friends with a witch from Ravenclaw, Anna was her name. She became quite dear to me during my sixth and seventh years, and as adolescents of that age are prone to do, we both thought of a future together. One year after we graduated, I had continued with my studies while she had returned to help in her family's enterprise, and we barely spoke to each other anymore. Do not misunderstand me, we did not fight or have a horrible falling out; we simply drifted apart. Occasionally I saw Anna over the years, after she had married and had children, and while she remained a wonderful person, I wondered why I ever had romantic feelings for her. Hogwarts is but a brief moment in your life Harry, and in the lives of your friends, do not believe that your life will be immutable upon your graduation. No, life changes you a thousand times. Whether the woman meant for you is currently at Hogwarts or is unknown to you, witch or muggle, cannot be known. The key is that you remain ready for whatever life throws your way."

Harry ran his fingers though his untidy locks, responding, "I guess it's hard for me to see that far ahead. Right now it looks to me that I'm going to die a young and lonely man."

"For that, I cannot blame you Harry. Your burden is great. But do not forget the prophecy upon which Voldemort has placed such importance. You have the power he knows not. You have the ability to defeat him. Just as you do not enter a Quidditch match believing that you will inevitably lose, you must not take a defeatist attitude with your inevitable battle." Harry nodded knowingly, to which the professor added with a smile, "Speaking of which, I think the time has come to return to our lesson."

Dumbledore's pep talk seemed to have done the trick, because for the first time Harry fully entered the "ice wall" in his mind, completely emptying his mind of all thought. Unknown to him, Dumbledore used the Legilimens spell in an attempt to enter Harry's mind, but was blocked, as he expected. No matter how powerful the wizard performing the spell, he cannot enter a mind perfectly at rest, closed to all stimuli. The professor smiled with satisfaction, for he knew that Occlumency was much like riding a broom; once you have the feel, you never lose it.

Despite his loneliness, Harry felt more optimistic than he had in ages; something about conversations with Dumbledore could do that for him. Ecstatic about his Occlumancy achievement, Fawkes transported Harry back to Hogwarts, already thinking about practicing his Occlumancy again when he went to bed. Stepping into the hall down a few doors from the Gryffindor common room, Harry froze, surprised to see a great commotion.

Students streamed out of the common room in their bed clothes, for Harry knew that the time had passed midnight. Even more surprising, the normally invisible house elves bustled about out in the open moving trunks from the common room, yelling excitedly to each other in their elvish tongue. Harry ran down the hall and squeezed into the common room.

"Hurry up, HURRY UP," screamed a frazzled Hermione in a blue bath robe, "We need to evacuate now! Don't worry about your trunks. They'll be sent to you. Hurry!" Harry also saw Ron shooing the sleepy first and second years towards the opening.

"What's happening?" Harry half yelled to Hermione to be heard above the din.

"There you are! We have to leave now. The castle is not safe, that's all we know. McGonagall says we haven't been attacked, but something has happened."

Hermione rushed away to push a few others out the door. Harry took in the scene, and could not help himself; he laughed. All the thought and worry he put into deciding whether to stay at Hogwarts, the nervous talk with Professor McGonagall, the desire not to do anything to harm Hogwarts - all a waste of time. Strangely enough, Harry felt elated, though he knew he should not. Something terrible had happened, clearly, but he would be free of Hogwarts, and as far as he was concerned, nothing could be better.

He did not feel the least bit worried about Hogwarts being attacked, for only he knew that the wards on the castle remained in place since Dumbledore had not died, but of course he could not tell anybody. Casually climbing the stairs to his dormitory he called for Dobby. The house elf appeared in a moment out of breath.

"Harry Potter must leave Hogwarts. All students are leaving."

"Yes, I know Dobby. Do you know what's happened?"

"Dobby heard Professor McGonagall say that the Ministry was attacked, Harry Potter. Dark wizards attacked the Ministry, and Hogwarts is not safe now. Harry Potter must leave now."

Harry looked for his trunk and belongings.

"Where's my trunk, Dobby?"

"Dobby moved Harry Potter's trunk to his home. Everything is done. Harry Potter just needs to go. Harry's Granger and Weezey can go too. Dobby will come when Dobby finishes helping here."

"Very well, Dobby. You have done very well. Thank you. I'll see you at Grimmauld Place." Dobby popped away, and Harry looked around the sterile dormitory room, his home for the past six and a half years. Just a few minutes ago, he knew, there had been clothes, books, parchment, quills and other ephemera strewn about the large dormitory. Would he ever see this room again? Would he ever see the common room again? He threw himself on his bed one last time, enjoying its comfort for about half a minute.

Calmly walking to the Great Hall, Harry viewed the stream of students walking under the watchful eyes of prefects and teachers out the front door, across the moonlit grounds, towards the front gates. In the Hall, McGonagall directed a couple of teachers, who immediately rushed off to accomplish their task. Noticing Harry, she motioned him to come over. She moved towards the wall of the Great Hall to avoid being heard, and Harry had never see her so harried.

"What has happened, Professor?" He asked softly.

"You Know Who is back. He's attacked the Ministry."

Harry felt no sense of surprise.

"So did the attack succeed?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter, You Know Who now controls the Ministry offices. I believe Minister Scrimgeour escaped, but many have fallen," McGonagall reported, a look of despair on her face.

"What's going to happen now?" questioned Harry, mostly rhetorically.

"I don't know, Harry," McGonagall sighed, "but you need to understand reality. For the moment, there is no Ministry. There is no government, no law and order." She paused, and Harry noticed that she gazed at Harry with soft, almost loving eyes. "You must be vigilant and extremely careful, Harry. The Order will continue its fight, and you must continue yours."

Harry suddenly realized that McGonagall meant to use this moment to say her goodbyes to Harry, for she knew that they may never see each other again.

"I will professor. I'm sorry for all the problems I caused for you this year. I can't thank you enough for all that you have done."

"On the contrary, Harry, I must thank you. I may as well tell you, Hogwarts nearly failed to open in September. When the Prophet printed your comments at Diagon Alley, we were flooded with returning students. But the future is what matters now." The elderly witch's voice choked. "I have confidence in you, Harry Potter. Professor Dumbledore often assured me that you would become a great wizard, and I see now that he was correct. I'm sorry that the hopes of the wizarding world rest on your shoulders, but yours are the only shoulders which can bear them. Let me know how I can help you in any way." Harry had never seen the professor so emotional before, and it affected him deeply.

"We will meet again, Professor. Don't give up hope! In a way, I think Voldemort coming out into the open may be the best thing that could have happened. We'll soon have a surprise for him," Harry asserted, feeling strangely confident, "I'll be ready for him this time."


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

I'm Done Worrying

All of the Weasleys except for Charlie and Bill had gathered around the kitchen table at No. 17 Grimmauld Place at 3:15 am. With the fall of the Ministry, they could not safely remain at the Burrow. As a ministry official, Arthur had not been allowed to name a secret keeper for his residence, and though other protections had been enacted, he knew they were not up to the task of deflecting a death eater attack. If You Know Who's followers succeeded in breaching the considerable protections of the Ministry itself, the Burrow did not stand a chance. Harry instructed Dobby to provide the necessary information for all of them to move to his home, and after grabbing as many of their personal belongings as they could, they moved into Grimmauld, which fortunately afforded ample space for all of them and many more. Hermione also moved in, as her parents' home had no protection at all.

Harry and Hermione occupied Harry's room, leaving the Weasleys to discuss their plight without outside interference, though the family no doubt would have welcomed their presence. Harry had kicked off his shoes and lay comfortably on his bed, an extra pillow propping up his head in order to be able to see Hermione sitting on a chair. To be accurate, Hermione did not sit so much as sit, stand, pace, and generally work herself into a dither. As normal when she became overly agitated, she could not stop talking. Harry did his best to listen courteously, but before long he could not fail to find humor in the scene. At last, a brief laugh could not be suppressed, and once it escaped, a waterfall of laughter followed.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, I can't help it. If you could see yourself, you'd understand." Hermione forced herself into a chair but still sent Harry a scathing look. Her hair, which had been slept in for an hour before the evacuation of Hogwarts, appeared as frazzled as her nerves, and she remained in her robe.

"I can't help it! Hogwarts is closed, the Ministry lost to death eaters. Our whole world is falling apart! How can you just lie there?"

"What do you want me to do about it? Should I go to the Ministry and ask the death eaters to go home? Maybe if I say 'Please.'"

"Now is not the time for jokes," the teenaged girl admonished, "We need to make plans. What are we going to do? I don't have any idea what to do next."

"Actually," Harry answered calmly, lying back with his hands behind his head, "I know exactly what I'm going to do." He paused for several moments until he realized that Hermione expected him to explain himself. "I'm going to be leaving for a few days. The Weasleys and you can stay here; you'll be safe. When I return in, I don't know, three or four days, then it will be time to act."

"You're leaving?" Hermione gasped, "How can you leave now? It's too dangerous. Stay here for a few days, and let things settle down." She vacated her chair once again.

"Things are not going to settle down, but don't worry. Where I'm going is quite safe. Nobody will know where I am." Harry could see that he had not satisfied his friend, so he added, "Look, I'm almost ready. Don't worry. When I come back, I'll explain. There's a few more things I need to learn. I'm almost there." Hermione's mood did not improve.

"Don't tell me not to worry. I'm worrying about everything. Maybe you should be worrying a little more too."

Harry just smiled, "I've been worrying all my life. I'm done worrying. Now we're going to do something about it. Just have a little patience."

**ANARCHY!**

**  
Last night, the Ministry building in London was attacked by followers of He Who Must Not Be Named. After several hours of intense fighting, the building had to be abandoned by the Ministry to the death eaters, who currently have control of it. Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour is believed to have escaped along with other high Ministry officials. The current location of the Minister is unknown, but an official statement has been released from his office: **

"The Ministry is distressed to inform the wizarding world that it has lost control of the Ministry offices to followers of He Who Must Not Be Named. Many aurors and ministry employees fought valiantly against the dark forces, but unfortunately they were not able to prevent the takeover. The Ministry is currently relocating to a secret location, and will continue its resistance against the forces of evil."

No statement has been issued by those currently in possession of the Ministry building, and it is not known if He Who Must Not Be Named is there. The effect of the attack has been immediate and profound. All wizards and witches have been instructed not to report to their places of employment. Many families are leaving Britain or otherwise going into hiding. All schools have been closed, and students have returned to their homes. The wizarding world in Britain is currently in a state of anarchy and despair.

The Daily Prophet has had to abandon its Diagon Alley offices as a result of this attack and will continue to print a reduced daily edition from an undisclosed location. The Prophet regrets that it cannot accept any mail from its readers until further notice.

Professor Dumbledore quickly scanned the article which Harry had brought to him, as he had already read it before. Fawkes brought him the newspaper every day. A look of supreme calm came over his face, and in fact he slightly smiled.

"You don't look very concerned about this, Professor," Harry commented.

"Not true, I am extremely concerned, but I do feel that this tragic event may serve our purposes quite nicely." Dumbledore scratched his neatly trimmed goatee, much like a chess player contemplating his next move. Harry noted that the old man seemed to have gained some strength over the past few days.

"I thought the same thing, sir," Harry agreed, sipping on a glass of water, "At least now we know where Voldemort is, and wherever he is, Nagini will be close by." The young wizard had dressed comfortably in jeans and a t-shirt, his jacket hanging over a chair in the kitchen.

"Correct, Harry. Moreover, I happen to have detailed knowledge of the Ministry offices that few others possess. Voldemort is, I am quite sure, unaware of the special characteristics of the building, and we may be able to use these to our benefit. Yes, I do believe that Lord Voldemort may come to regret his decision to mark his return with such a spectacular battle. He will not abandon the building; otherwise, the attack would be for naught. Yes, many possibilities come to mind; I will need to give this my full consideration. However, most pressing is to continue your lessons, as we now have little time to waste."

A sense of urgency infused their lessons, and Harry spent all of his time at Dumbledore's flat for the several days after the Ministry attack, conjuring a bed for the nights. Harry knew that the wizarding world had spiraled into a state of upheaval, but he only knew the bits and pieces that the Daily Prophet managed to publish. The newspaper with difficulty could print two pages of news, and it had to change its location almost daily, as death eaters were attempting to capture the editors and place the publication under their control. Minister Scrimgeour's pronouncements feigned control over the government, but everyone knew the truth - no government existed.

Fortunately, Harry's progress advanced tremendously. His confidence in his magical abilities soared to an all-time high, and at times he realized he could perform magic that few wizards would dare to attempt. Dumbledore stepped up the pace, turning into a jovial but insistent task master. He now attacked Harry's mind ferociously, testing Harry's Occlumency . The teacher finally found himself satisfied; Harry could erect his "wall of ice" almost immediately.

Legilimency came much easier to Harry, as Dumbledore expected, since he knew Occlumency to be the more difficult of the two disciplines. They spent most of their time not on mastering the spell, which Harry had accomplished within minutes, but learning how to manipulate the invaded mind once he had entered. Unfortunately Harry could only practice on Dumbledore; ideally they would have preferred to have many practice partners. On the other hand, Dumbledore's mental powers far exceeded any other possible subject, and he managed to provide many different exercises.

Lastly, Dumbledore with some trepidation began teaching Harry the arguably dark art of animal possession.

"Most of the wizards who have practiced this art have been immersed in the dark arts, Harry, that is most demonstrably true; however, I have never been convinced that the act of animal possession itself is inherently dark. Both Slytherin and Gryffindor were known to possess animals for various purposes. I will admit to you now, Harry, that I have possessed animals at least a dozen times during my life, and have found it to be an unsurpassed method of gathering information."

Harry practiced first on mammals, rats and mice provided by Fawkes, as humans generally could possess mammals more easily than other species. As Dumbledore promised him, the act of possessing the animal did not prove to be particularly difficult, and most any witch or wizard of average talent could do it with a bit of practice. Snakes, however, provided a different challenge, and few wizards tried to possess them, and fewer still succeeded. Dumbledore himself cautioned Harry that he had great difficulty with reptiles in general, and snakes in particular.

Fawkes had set a four foot asp on the table, and Harry studied it with no fear. Instead without thinking, Harry decided to speak to it, feeling it to be the most natural thing to do.

"Hello," he hissed in Parseltongue, instinctively knowing the formal manner of speech used by snakes, "I apologize for the manner in which you came to this place. We intend you no harm but seek your assistance." The snake jerked its head momentarily in shock.

"Who are you, human, that dares to speak our language? Only the dark one speaks the language of the adder. If you are a friend of the dark one, then you are no friend of mine. I shall not assist you."

Dumbledore examined the scene in fascination, Parseltongue being one of the few areas of magic in which he had no knowledge. Even when possessing a snake, a wizard could not understand its language. The headmaster often wondered if a wizard would be able to learn the language if a teacher could be found, but of course until Harry came along, no teacher candidates existed. With a hint of sadness, Dumbledore regretted that his life approached its end, and that he would not be able to delve into one more of the hidden secrets of magic.

"I am no friend of the dark one," hissed Harry, "No, I am his enemy. His sworn enemy, and it is my destiny to defeat him. But I need your assistance, for I must make contact with the dark one's companion, Nagini."

The conversation lasted for several minutes as the thin snake, naturally doubtful, had to be convinced to help Harry. Of course, Harry could have possessed the snake with our without its consent, but Harry sensed that this snake could be of much greater use to him if it cooperated voluntarily. Finally he convinced the slender snake, which agreed to allow itself to be possessed. Harry briefly explained what had happened to Dumbledore.

"Excellent!" cried the headmaster, "You are becoming wise beyond your years, Harry. Always seek to make an ally when possible, for you never know when the alliance may save your life."

Possessing an animal combined a form of apparation with entry into the animal through a spell during the act of disappearing. Once Harry had the timing down, he found it to be quite easy, at least with mammals and birds. Harry stood as the snake eyed him intently; he turned and disappeared with a quiet crack silently reciting the incantation, "Portus animagus."

This definitely did feel different than the other animals, especially having no legs, but Harry realized that he felt perfectly comfortable in the snake's body, more so than in the mammals. Possessing an animal differed from an animagus, Dumbledore had explained, as an animagus IS the animal, and has no difficulty controlling its movements. Possession requires some practice, and each animal feels different. A wizard may feel entirely at home in one type of animal while struggling to control another. Also, the animal being possessed remains, and can struggle against the possessing wizard. Normally a wizard has much greater power than the animal and can overcome any resistance, but such is not always true of snakes, which are renown for their strength.

Fortunately for Harry, he did not need to struggle with this particular snake, which voluntarily allowed itself to be possessed. He could feel the mind of the snake alongside his own, and he slithered along the table to gain the feel of being a snake. The longer he remained in possession of the snake, the more he felt at home, to the point where he thought it would not have been so bad to be a snake. Eventually he tired, for possession of an animal requires constant effort and normally can only be sustained for fifteen minutes or half an hour. Leaving the animal was as simple as relaxing one's grip on a cup, and in an instant Harry had returned to the sofa, tired but satisfied. All of the elements had been set in place.

Throughout Britain, turmoil reigned. Shops and businesses shut down, moving their inventory to safer locations. The darkest elements of the magical world, confined to such places as Knockturn Alley in the past, emerged from their lairs to wreak havoc. Muggles noticed the many unexplained events - dead bodies of perfectly healthy people; suspicious fires where no source could be determined; automobiles veering across traffic at impossible angles, causing huge traffic jams. Wizarding families dealt with the bleak future in their own ways. Many left the country, moving to the continent or even to America. Others moved to new locations within Britain, hoping to be ignored by the new power. At the least, families placed additional magical protections on their homes. The magical world held its breath.

Two wizards, however, appeared to be calm in the face of turmoil. Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter sat contentedly in an Italian restaurant not far from the flat. The professor felt relatively well and convinced Harry to join him for the meal, though Harry worried about their safety. Just to be safe, Dumbledore changed Harry's hair to a dirty blond, which after several rounds of laughter, Harry decided did not look so bad. Only on rare occasions had Harry eaten in muggle restaurants during his childhood, as the Dursleys rarely ate out, and when they did, they most certainly did not bring Harry along. Dumbledore, on the other hand, appeared to have frequented muggle eateries, for unlike most wizards, he knew exactly how to order and act.

Both agreed that Harry was as ready as he ever would be. At the flat, they discussed his next moves, but at the restaurant they talked about everything but business. Dinner like this with the man he most admired in the world had to be savored, Harry knew, so he tried to think of everything he ever wanted to ask the old man.

"I understand that the Potters were a pure blood family from way back. How long have you known them?"

Wizards, of course, live much longer lives than muggles, and Dumbledore had exceeded the normal life span of a wizard, by now well over 150 years old. Harry figured the old man would have known several generations of Potters.

"Well, the Potters definitely qualified as a pure blood family, but never of the extremley snobbish sort like the Blacks or Malfoys. Still, the Potters lived in London, a part of the social elite of that era. As we have discussed, the wizarding world differed greatly from today - I'm talking about the 1850's, 60's and 70's, when I was a boy and young man. The elite families considered my family a bit eccentric. Although my parents were wizard and witch, there had been intermarriage in previous generations, so our purity of blood was somewhat questionable. We did not care a whit, of course, but the London pure bloods tended to shy away from us, including the Potters. Understand, Harry, that this occurred long before Voldemort or even Grindelwald; no movement to eliminate non-pure bloods existed, but from a social viewpoint, you only mattered if you could show your pristine blood lines. The Potter clan did not differ in that regard from any other of the elite families."

"Do you know any of their names?" Harry asked, wondering why he had never asked the professor about this before.

"I met a number of Potters over the years, but I never befriended any of them until your father. I recall an elderly man, Jeremiah Potter, in my youth. Bald with a long white beard. He impressed me with how old he looked, much as I must impress you now," Dumbledore grinned knowingly. "He must have been your great, great, great grandfather, though I may be missing a great in there."

And so they passed the evening, the calm before the storm. Harry learned several names of his ancestors, but Dumbledore knew little of them before James, Harry's father. Of his mother's family, the professor knew virtually nothing, as he had not met with them after she received her Hogwarts letter. Of course, Harry already knew something of his mother's family, having been sentenced to live with her sister.

"I wish we could stay here forever, Professor," Harry sighed as they prepared to return to the flat, "I think of what we have to do, and I just can't believe that something won't go wrong."

"No doubt something will go wrong, Harry. Rarely have I ever completed a plan exactly as plotted. Almost always some split-second decision needs to be made. You must trust that when the time comes, you will make the right decision." Dumbledore paid the bill, and the two wizards, now true friends, prepared to leave. Harry left his seat to help the frail man out of his, providing support to his arm.

"Thank you, Harry," the elderly man grunted as he struggled to straighten his back. He then looked Harry straight in the eye. "Merlin, I wish I could go with you!"

The snake had agreed to wait at Dumbledore's flat, and though it easily could have slithered under the door, it in fact remained. Harry gently lifted the snake onto the kitchen table, taking a seat himself, and for the first time in his life, he had a true conversation with a serpent.

"Thank you for waiting for us," Harry hissed, realizing that he did not know the snake's name. "How are you called?" The slender serpent did not appear to understand, so Harry tried to explain, "Wizards call me Harry Potter, and he is Professor Dumbledore. What do snakes call you?"

Bending its head in understanding, the snake hissed quietly, "They call me Issamir. I am of the clan of Slisharem. I have heard your name, Harry Potter; you are well known to all serpents in this land. All know the names of the snake wizard and of Harry Potter. I am honored to know you, for I am a lowly and unimportant being. There are many of greater importance in my clan. Perhaps I should take you to them, so that you can use the services of a more talented serpent."

"No," Harry hissed in response, "You have proven your valor, for you allowed me to enter your body and for my mind to exist alongside yours. That is true bravery, and you must not underestimate your worth. What you have agreed to do will be extremely dangerous; however, our world and your world depend on our success."

Harry carefully placed Issamir in the pocket of his robe and returned to Grimmauld Place. Turning into the kitchen, he saw Remus sitting at the table with a cup of tea, conversing with Arthur Weasley. They both carried morose expressions, and Harry knew the news could not be positive.

Remus arose and grabbed Harry's hand with extra strength. "It's been too long, Harry."

Harry could not agree more. The two had not seen each other since August, and both had been to hell and back, though neither knew the hell of the other. Remus had continued to age rapidly, with lines creasing his deeply weathered face, and grey streaks more pronounced in his hair. Though Harry's appearance had improved since the worst of the Slytherin's locket fallout, Remus could not help but notice the toll taken on the young man. Harry also shook Arthur's hand, whose hair displayed more grey than just a few months before, and the men gestured to a chair. After placing a cup of tea in front of Harry, the men returned to their seats.  
"We've all been worried about you," Remus commented, "Molly even wanted us to try to find you, but Hermione and Ron insisted that we do nothing. I won't bother to ask where you've been."

Vaguely smiling, Harry nodded his thanks, "I appreciate that, Remus, though I can tell you that my time has been well spent. What's been happening since the attack on the Ministry?"

"There've been attacks all over the country," Arthur replied reluctantly, for Remus appeared too weary to give a detailed explanation, "Wizards and witches are scattering. With few exceptions, families have left their homes and gone into hiding. Some have found safe houses, such as us, while others have tried to melt into the muggle world. Many are leaving the country. Minister Scrimgeour has had to remain in hiding, the Prophet could not publish yesterday, and nobody is providing any meaningful resistance to the death eaters. The Order of the Phoenix essentially does not exist, as everyone is tending to their own affairs and is afraid to gather together. Does that give you an idea, Harry?" Harry had never heard Mr. Weasley, normally an optimistic and enthusiastic man, sound so defeated.

Indeed, the young wizard understood all too well, and the pressure of his burden suddenly bore down on his shoulders even more heavily.

"Did Snape know about Voldemort's plans?" Harry asked, for he and Dumbledore had openly wondered"Not a thing," answered Remus, "We questioned him earlier under veritaserum, and he knew nothing about an attack on the Ministry. Either Voldemort planned this after Snape was lost to him, or he never included him in the plot. We tend to think the latter; basically Voldemort was willing to sacrifice Snape, or perhaps did not entirely trust him. We found out some interesting information, but nothing especially helpful. Voldemort took great care with our dear Professor Snape." Remus' weary voice dripped with pessimism.

"What's Voldemort doing?" Harry inquired, "Has he made any public statements? Do we know what he wants?"

"Not a word from him," Arthur answered, still not daring to say the name of the dark lord, "but we understand that he is studying the Ministry offices carefully. As you know, there are many classified objects and documents there, though we managed to remove or secure the most important of them. Nevertheless, it's a terrible loss for us."

Harry sipped his tea automatically, not knowing what to say. His new world had crumbled. Unlike other wizards, he did not have the option of melting into the muggle world. Voldemort would pursue him from the highest mountain to the deepest sea. The die had been cast, and Harry's plan, though full of holes, was his only hope. He needed to talk to Hermione and Ron.

His comrades sat stunned, incapable of speech. Harry Potter had just detailed a plan of action which most likely would result in his death. And probably theirs.

"You're really serious, aren't you?" Ron asked disbelievingly.

"Of course I am," Harry answered, a bit put off by the question, "Look, I know it's a risky plan, but everything we've done so far has been risky. There is no safe way. Caution will get us nowhere."

"But you're talking about entering his mind, Harry," Hermione emphasized, finally finding her voice. Her attempt to remain seated in Harry's bedroom, where the three met, failed, and she began pacing the room. At another time, Harry would have found it humorous. "You practice Legilimency for a few days, and you think you're an expert. We're not talking about just anybody; this is Lord Voldemort. He can probably block you in a second. And who knows what he'll do to you in revenge? He could kill you, Harry."

"Thanks for that vote of confidence, Hermione; it's inspiring," Harry responded sarcastically, "but he can't kill me that way. Don't you think he would have done it already if that was possible? No, he can try to get into my mind and cause me a lot of pain, but this time I can defend myself. And I can also give as good as I get. He won't like me inside of his head any more than I like him inside of mine." His eyes glared at the thought, causing Hermione to shiver.

"But what good will it do?" Ron interjected, his leg hanging over the arm of a chair, "I mean, we need to figure out whether he made another horcrux. Won't he block you out before you have a chance to find out."

"Not if I do it right. I know how to bring thoughts to the front of the brain. If I can do it as soon as I get in, Voldemort won't be able to block me out until I have seen it. And if he does, then at least he knows that he's not safe, that I can attack his mind as easily as he can attack mine. Psychological warfare, you could call it." Harry had learned that term from Professor Dumbledore.

"That's if you can survive Nagini. Where's this snake you've told us about? How do we know it won't betray you?" an exasperated Hermione asked.

Harry hissed incomprehensively and in a few moments, the small serpent slithered out from under the wardrobe, and Harry and it made eye contact.

"This is Issamir. He has agreed to help me." Hermione and Ron stared mutely at the unimpressive snake. Should they say hello to it, they wondered.

Finally Hermione commented, "Isn't he kind of small, Harry?"

"I want him to be small. We need to be able to get around without being seen. Issamir is good at that. It makes no sense to be a basilisk or something like that. They'd see us right away. No, in this case, smaller is better."

Ron and Hermione glanced at each other, and Harry could see that they remained unconvinced. He stood up, lifting Issamir in his hands.

"I am going to the Ministry tomorrow night. I am no longer discussing that. I would really appreciate it if you could help me. But this is it! One way or the other, we are reaching the end of the game. We can't wait any longer. Voldemort is taking over. Every day we wait, the worse it will be. He's looking for something at the Ministry, and if he finds it, who knows what will happen. There's no more time to wait."

Harry's impassioned plea finally won over his friends.

"We better do some planning then," Hermione sighed.


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

Today You Will Meet Your Maker

Harry Potter, Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley sat uneasily in the late evening on the London Underground. Their train contained three other teenagers, all boys, perhaps 18 or 19 years of age, drawing attention to themselves. They wore torn black leather pants and jackets, black t-shirts with more holes than cloth, and rings and pins piercing various parts of their body. Harry and Hermione may have heard of such characters, but never had they seen them up close. Ron sat in his row completely flabbergasted and had to exert tremendous self-discipline to prevent himself from staring at the three boys. He stole glances at the them as often as he could.

The two wizards had dressed in black clothing themselves, jeans and long-sleeve pullovers, and Hermione wore dark pants and a sweatshirt, but they still seemed like choirboys (and girl) compared to the older teens. The lack of tattoos and piercings no doubt contributed to that, as well as the fact that their hair retained its natural color.

The other commuters shifted nervously in their seats, hoping that the three punks would leave at the next station, and take their insufferably loud music with them. Instead, at the next stop, the three stayed, but almost all of the other riders exited, rushing to board another car or wait for the next train. Harry never considered following their lead, for he had failed to notice the annoying trio. He focused inexorably on the task ahead of them, and the loud music and antics served merely as background noise.

Ron could not ignore them, however, and his nerves flared when he realized that the three boys had noticed the two wizards and witch. Only a couple of other riders remained on the car, but from their tattoos and bulging muscles they probably did not worry about the young and skinny trouble-seekers. The three boys decided to focus their attention on the clean-cut threesome. Ron could see that Hermione noticed as well, and fear creased her eyebrows as her hand reached for her wand. Harry remained oblivious, lost in his thoughts.

"Oy, wot 'ave we 'ere, Colin, a few o' England's finest. Go to Eton, do you? Ma'be we could give 'em a diff'rent lesson t'nite. Wot you say, Colin?" boasted a scrawny lad to Colin, by appearances the leader of the gang. A more impressive specimen, Colin stood at least Ron's height but more muscular, with a couple tattoos on each biceps. His dark brown hair spiked in random directions, some of them colored black and red.

"Right you are, Mick," Colin retorted but in a low, soft, threatening voice, "Me thinks their education 'as been lacking." He reached into his pocket.

"Get away from us," Hermione ordered, "or I'll call the police." Her voice shook slightly despite her best effort to appear strong. Belly laughs from the threatening teens rewarded her attempt.

Ron felt he had to do something as well, so he stood up to move in front of Hermione, saying, "Just leave her alone; we weren't bothering you. We don't want any trouble." Both had their hands on their wands, reluctant to use them in a muggle train.

"O', but you WERE both'ring us, sittin' over 'ere starin' at us," replied the third lad, whose name had not yet been mentioned., "We don' like the likes of you starin' at us."

Harry had finally been roused from his stupor and immediately understood the predicament. Already on edge, he snapped.

"Get away from her," he snarled in an unnaturally low voice, and the three boys jumped slightly at the angry voice which did not contain an ounce of fear.

Harry had left his seat himself and stood in front of his friends. The punks did not laugh now, as perhaps they had not truly planned to do anything beyond scaring the pants off the three younger teens. Now the situation had turned more serious, as they could not ignore the impertinence of this skinny kid with the messy black hair.

"You shouldn' o' said that," warned Mick, as he pulled back his right fist.

Mick never threw a punch, however, as he inexplicably hurtled through the air, crashing against a row of seats four rows away. Mick's friends' shock was short-lived, as soon they found themselves in midair with the force of a heavyweight's uppercut, smashing their heads against posts and seats. The unnamed boy crumpled into unconsciousness; Colin escaped unhurt but enraged. He jumped to his feet and rushed at Harry.

"DON'T!" cried Hermione, sensing Harry's outrage and praying he would not kill the boy.

Harry did not hear Hermione or anything else. He felt no reluctance to use his wand. Every muscle in his face had tensed while he watched the older boy charge. He pointed his wand at Colin, lifting him into the air, all the way to the ceiling of the car.

Colin's eyes betrayed his fear as he yelled, "Put me down!"

"Fine!" Harry growled, lifting his wand, allowing his attacker to fall awkwardly onto the top of two rows of seats, then rolling off and crashing to the floor on his back. His head whiplashed against the hard floor, and another of the trio lapsed into unconsciousness. Mick had viewed these events disbelievingly, but he kept enough wits about him to dash out the door when it opened at the next station.

"This is our stop," Hermione half whispered, her eyes wide in shock from the explosion of violence from her best friend.

Harry glared at the two other passengers in the train car who witnessed the whole confrontation. Big, tough men they may have been, but their eyes widened in fear as the slender seventeen year old pointed a stick at them.  
"Obliviate them."

Fortunately Hermione performed memory charms with special skill, and within a few seconds, she had removed the memory of the one-sided battle from the minds of the two men. Then Harry, Ron and Hermione dashed for the door, just squeezing through before it closed.

"What about those two?" Hermione asked, referring to the two unconscious bodies still on the train.

"Forget about them," Harry ordered dismissively, and he immediately turned his attention to the Underground station, going over the directions Dumbledore had given. "This way," he nodded, and the three strode towards the end of the platform until they reached the point where the tunnel out of the station began. Harry looked back and saw that the few commuters still in the station paid them no attention, as most headed for the street exit. "Follow me."

Quickly he jumped off the platform next to the rails of the train track and walked purposefully into the tunnel. Ron and Hermione scrambled after him, Ron helping Hermione down, and they chased after Harry, who had almost moved out of view. As he walked, Harry ran the palm of his left hand along the wall, apparently trying to feel something. Suddenly some fifty yards into the tunnel, he stopped. His friends caught up to him in a few seconds.

"Is this it?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," Harry muttered, grasping his wand. Dumbledore had warned him that he must perform the special opening spell exactly the first time, or the passage would not open no matter how many times he tried. "Let me concentrate," he whispered, and then tapping the tunnel wall three times he chanted, "In the name of the Ministry of Great Britain, open for the safety of your people." He then drew a pattern of three parallel lines and one diagonal crossing them, and the wall disappeared to expose a dimly lit passage, barely tall enough for Ron to stand straight, and only wide enough for two at a time. "Hurry!" ordered Harry, for he knew the wall would reseal itself in exactly ten seconds.

"Come on," he whispered as he carefully but quickly strode up the passage, which stretched out straight and considerably downhill. They did not need to walk far, as the passage came to a dead end. Harry removed his wand from the pocket of his dark pullover, but before touching the wall he turned towards his friends. His hair had become especially tangled following the encounter on the Underground, and he had not shaved in several days. His eyes glared with intensity, and his friends would have feared him had they not known him so well. "Remember what we planned. This wall leads us to a cloak room in a little used wing of the Ministry, but we'll be inside anyway. Anything can happen now. Stay under the invisibility cloak at all times. Any questions?"

The three friends realized that in all their adventures, they had never faced anything as dangerous as this escapade, which they knew by any rational consideration almost certainly would fail. They said nothing, for they did not want to verbalize the thoughts in their minds - that it all could end tonight. Harry merely nodded and drew the same four lines on the wall. They stepped into the dark cloak room, which in fact contained many cloaks and coats, no doubt left there by fleeing ministry employees. Carefully, Harry opened the door into the corridor of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts wing, and seeing no one, he stepped out. Ron and Hermione followed, closed the door, and then disappeared under the invisibility cloak.

They based their plan partly on the educated guess that this obscure section of the Ministry would be unguarded, or at the least lightly protected. Their wish had been granted, as the "Muggle Wing" appeared to be unguarded. Harry had not yet possessed Issamir, and to save time, he rushed down the corridor, assuming the others followed behind him. He had pulled the small serpent from his pocket, and it was now wrapped around Harry's neck. Ron and Hermione could hear them hissing at each other, having no idea of the contents of their discussion.

Issamir arched its neck to and fro, snapping it's forked tongue out of its mouth from time to time.

"The great snake is not in this area, Harry Potter."

Harry hissed back, "I did not expect it to be. The great snake will be close to its master. I do not yet sense the dark lord. We must descend to a lower level."

The easiest way to move between floors would or course be the elevators, in this instance an unavailable mode of transportation. Dumbledore had provided Harry with an alternate means of moving between floors, which he had spent hours memorizing, not daring to bring a map of the building with him in case he should be captured. They approached the center landing of the floor near the elevators, but before reaching them, Harry found a small closet to the right side. These closets in fact served as entrances to a hidden stairway between floors, but few in the magical world knew of them, not even employees of the Ministry. He ducked into the tiny room, half full of various cleaning supplies, leaving the door open for the followers. The door appeared to shut by itself, and Ron whipped off the invisibility cloak.

The three comrades glanced at each other briefly, with the unspoken message of "so far so good." Harry paused to take a few deep breaths and again traced the three parallel and one diagonal line on the back wall, which abruptly disappeared, exposing a narrow, dimly lit stairwell. Harry and Dumbledore had surmised that Voldemort would naturally gravitate to the bottom dungeons and secret laboratories at the lowest point of the building, an area not open to the public and seen by only a select few wizards. The elevators did not travel to this level, which could only be accessed through hidden entrances. Fortunately, Dumbledore had visited this forbidden area.

They descended floor by floor, stepping into similar closets each time, one containing parchment and ink bottles, another unlabeled large buckets. At each stop, they listened at the door, and two floors down, they heard muted voices of death eaters. Finally they descended as far as they could, arriving in a small empty stone room, which by all appearances had not been entered in years. The three friends and Issamir paused, none of them desiring to see the other side of the door.

By now, fear mixed with excitement and anticipation. Harry, Ron and Hermione huddled close together, their noses just inches apart so that they could speak at the lowest whisper.

"Promise me again that you will stay in here," Harry urged.

His two friends did not respond, and Harry angrily hissed, "We've been over this ten times. If you leave this room, you'll ruin everything. Our chances are slim enough as it is. The cloak won't do any good. I need you to be here to get us out of this place. Who knows what condition I'll be in." Ron and Hermione could feel Harry's warm, moist breath as he implored them. "And stay under the cloak!"

"We know, Harry; we just feel so helpless," Hermione whispered back, "Be careful! You can only last about half an hour inside the snake."

Harry nodded, but did not move. The whole idea of sauntering around in the body of a snake, finding Nagini, having a nice conversation with it, discovering whether it was a horcrux or not, killing it if necessary, and then escaping alive, seemed ludicrous.

Finally he smiled at his friends and with a nervous smile asked, "Who thought up this stupid idea anyway?" Hermione forced a smile of her own and ran her fingers through Harry's hair, while Ron placed his hand on his shoulder.

Hermione fastidiously cracked the door open and peaked outside, seeing nobody. Issamir arched its body and darted its tongue several times, then hissed.

"Nagini is here," Harry informed his friends, barely audibly. He hissed back at the serpent, which hissed in return. Placing Issamir on the rough stone floor, Harry whispered, "See you soon," but he hesitated before possessing the waiting serpent. "If I don't make it back, you know how to get out. Don't come after me." A moment later he disappeared.

Inside the snake's body, Harry heard Issamir's thoughts.

"Allow me to lead, Harry Potter. You are not a serpent and do not understand our ways. I will speak with the dark one's serpent. You may give me your thoughts or suggestions, but do not attempt to control me. The great serpent will sense that something is not right."

"I agree," Harry responded, hoping that Issamir could "hear" him, "I am in your . . . care." He almost used the Parseltongue word for "hands" but realized the inappropriateness of it. The small, slender snake slithered out of the cracked door, but a few feet later Harry asked it to look back at the slightly open door. Ron and Hermione had not closed it, peering out of the crack, and Harry/Issamir stared at the door until they got the hint. The door clicked shut.

The snake's grey skin provided perfect camouflage on the grey stone floor of the dungeon-like area. They heard voices from afar, though Harry could not understand any words. Light from an opening ahead and to the right met their eyes, and the voices emanated from within, but Issamir informed him that Nagini was not in that room. The slender serpent quickly moved its head and upper body side to side, testing the air with its tongue. In a flash it crossed the wide hall, taking cover in the shadows where the floor met the wall, virtually invisible. Avoiding any hasty movements, it glided past the door. Harry only saw a flash inside the large room, where at least three death eaters worked on something that Harry could not see. He had no time to dwell on it.

Harry felt comfortable enough within the serpent, more of a passenger than a conductor. He did not need to expend much energy to maintain the status quo, and Harry believed that he could remain in this state for an hour at least. Issamir continued its silent, circuitous route through the dungeons, never taking the most direct line anywhere, but always seeking the dark corners and cracks. Fortunately the dim lighting in the area favored them, for it would have been difficult to spot the grey snake against the grey floor even if it slithered openly down the center of the hall. At one point, Issamir stopped in a shaded nook while two death eaters walked silently by. Harry vaguely recognized one of them.

Issamir constantly flicked its tongue, and Harry could feel various sensations as a result, but not being a snake, he had no idea what they meant. The snake, on the other hand, understood every nuance in the air.

"The great snake is in that room, Harry Potter. Once again I request of you, do not attempt to control me. You do not know the proper manner of speaking with such a creature."

"I understand, Issamir. I trust you. You will let me know if there is anything I can do to assist you." Harry's thoughts confused him, as he heard them both in English and Parseltongue, as if simultaneously interpreted. Issamir paused, again testing the air repeatedly, and when convinced of safe conditions, it rapidly slid across the stone floor of the corridor and entered an extremely dim room. To human eyes could barely see in the darkness, but this posed no problem to a serpent. Between eyes and tongue, Issamir (and as a result Harry) could see just fine. The medium sized room appeared to have been claimed by Nagini as its own; no evidence of any human activity could be seen. Even Harry, though not a snake, could sense the presence of Nagini easily, and his adrenalin surged. He forced himself to calm down.

Harry vaguely noticed the contents of the room. An unfinished wooden work table stood just to the left of center, surrounded by several beat-up wooden chairs. A few smaller tables and benches lined the walls.

The small snake sensed that Nagini lay coiled in the back left corner of the room, and not desiring to come too close, Issamir headed for the back right corner. It knew by now that Nagini would have sensed the presence of an intruder, and Harry feared (as Hermione had reminded him) that Nagini might attack first and ask questions later.

"Stay where you are," came a deep hissing, an evil hissing. Immediately Harry felt it to be the Parseltongue version of how Lord Voldemort spoke. Nagini had to be a horcrux; Harry knew it. He could FEEL it. The temptation arose to release Issamir and resume his human form, for Harry had concealed a large blade in his clothing. _I could surprise it and slice off its head before it knew what happened,_ he thought, but he knew that he must wait. He had to satisfy himself completely that Nagini was a horcrux. One way or the other, however, Harry did not intend for the great serpent to live another day.

"I am Issamir, a small serpent and resident of this structure. Rumor had it that the Great Serpent, the companion of the snake wizard, had entered our home. Though small and worthless I may be, I could not resist the urge to contact the Great Serpent, though it may mean my death, for I cannot hope to escape your powers. I come in friendship and admiration, but I will leave in an instant if so you desire."

By stroking Nagini's ego, Issamir hoped to entice the huge snake into a conversation. It worked.

"Normally I would expel you immediately, or worse," hissed the huge snake menacingly, "but I have spent many tedious days in these rooms. I will allow you to remain in my presence for the time being." Harry immediately hated Nagini.

"What an arrogant git," he thought, the similarity to Voldemort obvious.

"Thank you, you are most kind," Issamir responded obsequiously, "We have spoken of you and the snake wizard often. Your presence here has created great excitement in my clan, and dare I say it, fear. Your fierceness is known among all serpents."

Laying it on a bit thick, Harry thought, but he hoped the small snake knew what it was doing.

"Rumors are rumors. Little of the truth is known of me," Nagini responded with false humility, for Harry could hear the pleasure in its voice. Concerned that Nagini did not appear especially talkative, Harry feared that Issamir would be unable to pry any useful information from it.

"Yes, you speak the truth. Many in my clan have complained that you are merely the servant of the snake wizard, but I have disagreed," Issamir hissed, expressing great disdain for his ignorant relatives. Harry knew that Nagini would not like to hear this.

"Tell your clan that I am servant to no wizard," Nagini hissed with great irritation, briefly uncoiling and recoiling. "The snake wizard is my friend and partner. He and I have had many adventures, both great and small, triumphant and disappointing. But I am not his servant." Issamir's comment clearly bothered the huge serpent; it hit too close to home.

"I knew that to be true, and I told my clan never to speak ill of the Great Serpent, and indeed many in my clan would never think such slander against you." Nagini had partially uncoiled again, causing both Issamir and Harry concern, but the giant snake merely repositioned itself, and did not appear interested in an attack. Issamir carefully pressed on, "All serpents respect you, but because you are rarely seen by our kind, many false rumors are told. Despicable rumors!"

Nagini lifted its head and looked away, feigning complete disinterest in these despicable rumors, but Harry could feel the smouldering rage inside of it. Surely Issamir felt it too; Harry wondered why his new friend did not proceed. But Issamir knew not to say more until asked, and the slender reptile felt sure that Nagini in the end would ask. Snakes are extremely vain and curious creatures, and Nagini was dying to know the content of these rumors.

Finally it gave in, "And what lies are said of me?"

Issamir moved away a foot or so and forced itself to tremble, as if it did not want to disclose these scurrilous rumors, but as Nagini had specifically asked, Issamir had no choice but to continue.

"Some believe that the snake wizard controls you. That he has performed some sorcery that has left you only partly in control of your actions." This time Issamir did not indicate disagreement.

Nagini hissed in anger, making no pretense at its irritation. Clearly Issamir's statement hit a sensitive nerve.

"Have I not said, I serve no wizard! The snake wizard does not control me. It is true that we have a special connection; a connection never seen before between wizard and serpent. But the snake wizard does not control me, nor do I control the snake wizard."

"Now we're getting somewhere," Harry thought, anxious for Issamir to probe deeper. Instead, Issamir appeared to change the subject, much to the wizard's irritation.

"Others have ventured to question the purity of your blood, that you have . . ." Issamir paused dramatically, "basilisk blood."

Again Nagini hissed, loud and long, this time in outrage. Apparently basilisks had a poor reputation with serpents, though Harry had no idea why. As far as he was concerned, a basilisk was nothing more than a huge serpent, but from Nagini's reaction, the reference to a basilisk deeply insulted it. This time Issamir did indicate disapproval, perhaps out of self-preservation.

"The idea is outrageous beyond words," it agreed, "but now I can tell them the truth, that your blood is pure, untainted by evil. I will make sure to spread the truth throughout my clan, and beyond."

"Get back to the connection with the snake wizard," Harry communicated to Issamir, but the creature merely told Harry to be patient. More than half an hour had passed since he entered the serpent's body, and Harry worried how long he could last. So far, however, he felt no danger of losing control, as he had to exert little power to control his host.

"I understand how the lie arose," Nagini hissed after a few seconds. Harry had the feeling that it wished to continue the conversation, as it rarely had a chance to speak to anyone other than Voldemort. "There is a certain resemblance, though of course I am much smaller. I do have unusual powers."

"Yes, we have often heard rumor of your powers. They are said not to be powers of a serpent, but of a wizard. What are these powers?"

"Of that I cannot speak. I will tell you this however. My powers and the snakelike powers of the snake wizard are the result of an agreement between us. He has given me part of his essence, and I have done likewise for him. Each of us has gained from this mixing of our inner beings."

That did it. Harry no longer harbored any doubt that Nagini in fact was a horcrux. Reference to Voldemort's "essence" and a "mixing of our inner beings" could only refer to their souls. Suddenly it all made sense. Voldemort's snakelike appearance resulted at least partially due to a piece of Nagini's soul in him, while Nagini's wizard-like abilities resulted from the insertion of a portion of Voldemort's soul. Nagini was Voldemort's horcrux, and Voldemort was Nagini's. Harry had heard enough.

He communicated with Issamir, "Now we know. We must do what we planned. Are you ready?"

"Yes, I am ready. Good luck, Harry Potter. May we have the fortune to escape alive."

With that, Issamir moved towards the center of the room, and through its eyes Harry quickly scanned for the best place in which to reappear. Harry and the snake had devised a plan, simple but deadly. Step one: enrage Nagini.

"Fascinating," hissed Issamir, who then paused for a moment as he heard a couple of death eaters passing by. "However, most serpents believe that there is another snake wizard of even greater power. The boy named Harry Potter. He is said to have unknown powers. It is true, is it not, that your snake wizard has failed to kill Harry Potter more than once." The hint of a taunt could be heard in Issamir's hissing; Nagini lifted its head and neck, and then semi-coiled into an attacking position.

"And what do you believe, my dear Issamir?" threatened the giant serpent, which to Issamir's eyes appeared to triple in size, "Is Harry Potter greater than the snake wizard?"

At that moment Harry released his possession of the small snake, temporarily paralyzing it, while the young wizard materialized in the corner of the room, about ten feet from Nagini. As soon as he felt in control of his body, he reached into a pocket to remove a knife which he had found in Grimmauld Place some time ago. Magical in nature, it shrunk to the size of a pocketknife while in his pocket, but as soon as he removed it, a blade some ten inches long appeared, which had been sharpened expertly by Dobby earlier that day.

"Yes he is," Harry answered in Parseltongue, "and today you will meet your maker."

Nagini's shock at the unexpected appearance of the nemesis of the snake wizard caused him to freeze momentarily, and Harry lurched forward with the blade barely visible in the dim light. Nagini could see perfectly, however, and Harry had reappeared just a bit too far away to reach it with his first swipe. The giant serpent finally reacted and briefly retreated before turning towards his sworn enemy. Neither had time for trash talking now.

Harry's leap forward brought him closer to his prey, and the adrenalin in his blood precluded any sensation of fear. He regained his balance and leapt to the left, as Issamir scurried to the far side of the room. With blinding speed, Nagini coiled and uncoiled, streaking through the darkness towards Harry's neck. The instinctive leap to the side just avoided the strike, and Harry wildly slashed at the serpent's body some four or five feet below its head, leaving a deep gash. The snake emitted an "ssssssssss" of pain, but it had not been incapacitated.

A surge of energy passed through Harry's body, a combination of hatred for the snake and its master, adrenalin, and competitiveness, for suddenly this seemed like a sport to the young wizard. If he had a moment to reflect, he almost would have thought it enjoyable. But he had no time to reflect, for Nagini swung its body back towards Harry, who avoided its mouth only to be struck squarely by the snake's body, throwing him some six feet across the room, knocking over the table and chairs. Like a seeker on a broom, Harry rolled with the force of the strike and then jumped to his feet. He knew that his wand would have little or no effect on the creature, which like a dragon was immune from most spells. Nagini would die the muggle way.

"You are very foolish, Harry Potter," Nagini taunted, regaining its arrogance. It felt that it had survived the wizard's best shot, and Harry no longer had the element of surprise.

Harry hissed his response, "No, you are the foolish one, allowing the snake wizard to put a part of his soul inside of you. You are as evil as he is, and you deserve to die."

Just as Harry finished his comment, Nagini sprung forward, and Harry anticipated the strike just in time. The giant snake's huge mouth opened in front of him, exposing two five inch fangs. Harry feinted as if jumping to the left, and the snake, anticipating it, moved in that direction, but instead Harry ducked straight down, and sweeping the blade with an upward backhand stoke, the knife sliced through Nagini's neck, just a couple of feet below its head.

The blow nearly severed Nagini's head from its body, as only a thin layer of skin and muscle attached it to its body, the reptile version of Nearly Headless Nick. Arteries had been severed, and deep red blood spurted from the snake's body like a geyser, soaking Harry's pants and shirt. Its head and upper neck momentarily stayed erect, and the head briefly turned towards Harry, who saw the life quickly fade from its eyes. A moment later, Nagini crashed awkwardly to the stone floor and died.


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

I Killed a Man

Harry and Issamir stared disbelievingly at the fallen enemy. The carcass of the giant snake still twitched slightly until at last it gave one last great jerk. Harry froze as he sensed a presence leaving the dead body; he knew what it was.

This exposed a huge hole in their plans. Nobody knew how a horcrux in a living body would react if someone succeeded in killing the host. Obviously the horcrux most likely would seek another host, the most likely candidates being either Harry or Issamir. Other possibilities existed, from the best case (if unlikely) scenario of the horcrux merely dying with the body, to the horrible thought that killing the host could cause the killer to die as well. At least Harry knew this last possibility did not occur, but that provided little consolation at the moment. For whatever reason, the presence moved inexorable towards Harry.

Should he run for it? Could he do something to it before it reached him? This and a dozen other thoughts caromed inside Harry's head over the next few seconds, but he took no action, frozen. The horcrux entered his body.

"Great," Harry thought, "here we go again!"

To his surprise, he felt no pain. This horcrux appeared to be of an entirely different nature from the others, or perhaps the same but weaker. Harry definitely could feel it inside of him, but it did not attack, and in fact he could sense its injury. Had he had a moment to concentrate, he would have tried to attack the horcrux immediately, to kill it before it had a chance to recover.

Unfortunately Harry was not afforded this opportunity. As he looked around the room, he realized that Nagini and he must have created a tremendous amount of noise, as the ruins of blood-stained chairs and overturned tables gave evidence. While engrossed in the battle, Harry heard nothing. By this time, a matter of perhaps fifteen seconds had elapsed since that fatal blow to the giant serpent, and Harry now heard footsteps in the hall. Running feet. Quite a few of them.

The next gaping hole in the plan: How would Harry return to the closet where Ron and Hermione huddled. Switching the bloody knife to his left hand, he grasped his wand in the right. Immediately the first death eater, a pale, gaunt blond man in his thirties, ran into the room, his wand at the ready, but Harry had prepared. Before the man even saw him in the darkness of the unused room, an unspoken expelliarmus spell struck him squarely. The death eater's birch wand flew from his hands, and the powerful spell thrust the man sideways into the wall. Bouncing off, he stumbled and fell forward, suffering a fatal piece of bad luck. A shattered leg of what appeared to have been a workbench impaled the unlucky death eater through his abdomen. He died within seconds.

For the first time in Harry's life, he had killed a man. True, he did not mean to, but a fact is a fact. In another situation, Harry may have been devastated by what he had done, but now he thought only one thing, "One out of the way." For indeed more could be heard. As Harry dove behind an overturned table, two more men arrived at the door. Unlike the first, they did not rush in, most likely due to the bloodcurdling scream of the impaled man. Their caution actually worked to Harry's benefit, as he had the opportunity to position himself and train his wand towards the open door. Suddenly one death eater burst through the door sending out a spell or hex, but he did so blindly in the darkness.

Harry's eyes, however, had fully accustomed to the dim light, and he quickly aimed his wand while thinking, "Stupefy." The spell traveled the fifteen feet and hit the man before he had a chance to erect a shield. He crumpled to the floor.

The third death eater either acted less bravely or more intelligently, depending on one's point of view, for he ran down the corridor yelling for more help. Harry needed to leave right away.

"Issamir, where are you? We need to go," Harry hissed.

"I am here," the serpent answered, "enter my body once again. I will be able to escape."

Harry had not had a chance to develop a better plan, so he found his serpent friend and chanted the possession spell. Once inside its body, Issamir bolted out the door and across the wide hall to the other side, then slithered in the dark corners back towards the closet where Ron and Hermione hopefully awaited them. The speed of the snake amazed Harry, and they left the room containing the carcasses of Nagini and the anonymous death eater well behind by the time the others arrived. They would be shocked by the scene, Harry figured, and perhaps that would afford them enough time to reach their destination.

The death eaters acted too quickly, however, and in moments Harry heard the sound of footsteps running up the corridor. The closet remained far away, and they could not make it before the death eaters, for a running human moved much faster than the small snake. Issamir apparently made the same calculations and quickly darted behind a storage cabinet of some sort. Four men ran by, Harry only seeing the bottom of their robes.

"He can't be far," huffed one of them, "He had to have snuck in because of the apparation wards. The dark lord will be furious. We HAVE to find him."

Harry could feel the fear in his voice. The death eaters knew that if Harry escaped, they would be held responsible by Voldemort for Nagini's death and for failing to capture the intruder. There would be hell to pay, and they could only hope that the dark lord would kill them quickly.

Issamir carefully slid from under the cabinet but moved more slowly now, constantly flicking its tongue to test the air. The death eaters could no longer be heard, so Harry hoped that they had passed by the closet. Painstakingly, Issamir closed in on their destination, and Harry thought that they would make it in time, when he heard footsteps returning. The death eaters now searched every room, recklessly barging in and desperately throwing spells at random. One of them closed in on the closet, now within Harry's view. Ron and Hermione had the invisibility cloak, but Harry could not be sure they had it on. Even if they did, a spell likely would hit them anyway in the small closet.

"I must leave you, Issamir. Try to get inside the closet," Harry communicated to the snake, and before it could respond, Harry had released the snake, and his body appeared. Quickly he grabbed for his wand, but the death eater saw him. Each man froze for a moment.

"Stupefy," yelled Harry, not having the presence of mind to use an unspoken spell. At the same moment the enemy yelled, "Petrificus Totalus." Fortunately for Harry, he cast his spell quicker. Harry just dodged the oncoming spell while his stunner hit his opponent in the shoulder, and Harry watched the man crumple unconscious to the ground.

The others heard the yelling, of course, and came running. Harry dashed for the door of the closet, Issamir on his heels. A spell came at him from down the corridor, but Harry opened the door just in time to block it. The force of the spell shattered the thick wooden door, leaving it dangling from the upper hinge.

"Harry!" Hermione yelled, but before she could say more, Harry bumped pass them and with his wand drew the three parallel and one diagonal lines on the back wall.

"They're coming," Harry shouted, "hurry up." Ron and Hermione rushed through, while Harry bent down to pick up Issamir. The death eaters now had to be just feet away, so Harry pointed his wand and yelled "Reducto" at the door, trying to cause the biggest explosion that he could. By chance, the first death eater appeared right at that moment, hit both by the spell and the exploding door. As Harry backed through the opening in the wall, the three friends saw the body soar to the far side of the corridor, head and neck slamming into the stone wall and slumping to the ground, almost certainly dead. Just before the closet wall closed in front of them, they saw the victim: Draco Malfoy.

The realization that Harry had just killed his childhood arch enemy stunned the threesome, who momentarily could not speak.

After staring at the wall for some ten seconds, Issamir finally broke the silence, hissing, "I believe we should keep moving, Harry Potter."

"Let's go," Harry responded in English, his voice rough as sandpaper. He pressed his hands on his two friends, prodding them to move.

"What happened, Harry," asked Ron as they clambered up the stairs. Hermione and he could see and smell the blood of Nagini on Harry's clothes.

"I killed Nagini. It was a horcrux," Harry panted, "Let's get out of here first."

The hidden stairway only allowed them to climb one floor at a time before reaching another wall. The wall had to be opened with the wand movements and the next closet entered. The wall would close behind them, and Harry would then have to open the wall again to go up or down another floor. While the process in each closet took less than half a minute, it allowed an enormous amount of time for the death eaters to find them.

Upon reaching the third floor, they knew that plenty of time had passed for Voldemort's followers to figure out that they climbed from one closet to another. To be safe, Ron and Hermione crouched as low as they could next to the wall as Harry drew the lines on the wall. Their wands pointed forwards, ready to fire. As soon as he scratched the diagonal line, Harry jumped to the side, his back flat against the wall. Issamir wrapped himself more tightly around Harry's neck.

Their caution paid dividends as they caught two death eaters unawares when the wall vanished. They had been checking behind the boxes and buckets in the small room, and when they turned towards the nonexistent wall, Ron and Hermione picked them off like ducks on a pond. Harry rushed forward and pressed an ear to the door, hearing faint voices. He stepped back to the wall, which had reappeared, and opened it anew. They had two more floors to go.

They performed the same strategy on the next floor. When the wall vanished, the closet appeared empty, and they moved to step through. The moment they did, however, a death eater jerked the door open, leading two others, all with their wands raised.

"STUPEFY," the first two shouted in unison, merging into one voice. Two yellow jets of light burst forth, one of them hitting Hermione in the shoulder. She slumped to the ground. The other jet through a stroke of good luck whizzed by Ron's ear and exploded against the wall of the stairwell, just before the back wall of the closet closed again.

Immediately Ron and Harry cast their own stunning spells. As they had practiced during their DA meetings two years previous, they aimed their spells about three feet apart. One of the unknown wizards moved to his right, avoiding Harry's spell but not Ron's, which struck him squarely in the chest. The two boys then dove to the ground, taking cover behind large pallets of blank parchment. The other death eater tried to find cover too, but Harry's unspoken stunner hit him in the side, not allowing him the chance to erect a shield. Two down, one to go. The death eater who had opened the door remained hidden. Harry made eye contact with Ron. He pointed to himself and then pointed to the higher potion of the door; pointing at Ron, he then pointed to the lower section. Ron nodded, and they turned back to the door.

This second DA tactic also worked to perfection. As soon as the death eater jumped from behind the door into a low crouch, seeking to avoid a spell at the normal height, Ron's low stunner hit him right in the forehead. Harry jumped out from behind his pallet to grab the fallen death eaters by the neck of their robes, yanking them into the closet. Closing the door, he placed a locking spell on it. Lastly, Ron and he used the incarcerous spell to bind the three enemies so that they could not move when they awoke.

Hermione had fallen awkwardly, and her friends now saw her splayed out in unnatural angles. Harry and Ron first moved her legs and arms into more natural positions before saying, "Ennervate." Hermione awoke, her head throbbing and her right shoulder screaming in pain. Momentarily disoriented, she looked around like a patient awakening from anesthesia. After a few seconds, she recalled what had happened and tried to push herself up, only to fall back down. Her shoulder stabbed her with pain and appeared to be separated. Harry and Ron carefully helped her to stand, but the pain proved too much, and she had to grab on to Ron's shoulder with her left arm.

"What are we going to do?" asked Ron frantically, "She can't run like that. She's in too much pain. I don't know any healing spells that would help this." He gingerly wrapped his right arm around her waist and helped her to lean against the pallet of parchment.

"I'm sorry mates," she grimaced, "I can move. I'll do my best." Harry had been thinking furiously.

"Hermione, what's that pain reducing spell? That would at least help a little."

Hermione forced herself to think through her pain, "Asperius. Flick the wand up and to the right when you say it." Harry did as she instructed, and immediately she felt relief. "Oh, that is much better, but I still can't use my arm. It's dislocated."

Thinking quickly, Harry snatched a sheet of parchment, and taking his wand transfigured it into a large white cloth, which he then fashioned into a sling for her arm.

"That's the best we can do for now, I'm afraid. Look, we shouldn't go up to the next floor. They know about these closets now. This is what we're going to do."

Harry briefly explained his impromptu plan, and in a few moments they stepped out the door. Harry had again possessed Issamir, while Ron and Hermione followed behind under the invisibility cloak. Harry's plan at least won points in its audacity. They intended to walk right out the front door. He knew that they were on the main level, where a year and a half earlier he had witnessed the incredible duel between Voldemort and Dumbledore. They progressed extremely slowly, as Harry needed to communicate to Issamir where to go, and a couple of times they had to turn around, for Harry did not know the building that well either, especially from the eyes of a snake. Ron and Hermione needed to keep their eyes both on the snake and on the lookout for death eaters.

As Harry had expected (or hoped), the death eaters had abandoned the main atrium in their search. Ron and Hermione had to freeze a couple of times at first as a couple of death eaters ran by, but once they arrived at the atrium, it appeared to be completely abandoned. As quickly as they could, staying close to the wall, they hurried to the entrance elevator, hoping against hope that it would work. Again Harry expected that the elevator would not allow anyone to enter but would allow those inside to exit. Voldemort would not expect attacking aurors to enter through the elevators anyway. Taking one last look around the enormous empty space filled only by the various sculptures and fountains, Ron pressed the button. After waiting for a few seconds, the elevator door opened.

The normal female voice on the elevator apparently had been disabled, as no voice greeted them. Since the elevator had the form of a phone booth, there were no buttons to push inside. Harry had reappeared, bloody clothes and all, placing Issamir around his neck again.

"How do we get to the surface?" he asked.

"Street level, please," stated Hermione forcefully, adding the "please" for good measure. Up the elevator rose, through the levels of earth, until finally they reached the dingy parking lot next to the abandoned building in commercial London. The last time they had been here, they captured Severus Snape.

The lot almost exactly appeared the same as that early morning months earlier, the time being 2:00 am or so, though none of them had bothered to check their watches.

"Grimmauld Place," Harry instructed, "Can you apparate, Hermione?" She nodded her head, and in a moment, two wizards, one witch and one snake disappeared from view.

By the time they walked through the door of Harry's house, he became conscious again of the foreign presence in his body. Without the surge of adrenaline and the distraction of the escape, Harry now could feel the vaguely debilitating effect of the horcrux, as much mental as physical.

"I've got to get to my room, guys. Don't touch me! Dobby!" Harry had forgotten that he had already touched his friends several times during their escape, without negative effects.

The house elf immediately appeared, his head topped with a red nightcap. "Yes Harry Potter," he answered, showing no sign that he had been fast asleep seconds earlier.

"I'm feeling weak, Dobby. Don't touch me, but please levitate me to my room." Dobby first waved his hand to remove the blood from Harry's clothing, and then pointed his finger at his master, raising him three feet off the ground, and in a minute Harry lay on his bed. He definitely felt sick now.

Gazing at his friends staring at him in confusion, he briefly explained, "I killed Nagini when I knew it was a horcrux. The horcrux left its body and entered mine. . . . It's inside of me."

"Oh no, Harry!" cried Hermione, "What can we do?" She had forgotten all about her dislocated shoulder. Harry Potter's face for the first time betrayed fear.

"Just stay with me. Don't leave me alone."

"We won't," Ron exclaimed, ending any possible discussion of the matter.

"It's not like the other one, is it?" Hermione asked, noticing that Harry did not show signs of severe pain like the other times.

"No, it's weaker, or injured, I'm not sure. I can feel it, but I can't really located it. It's just there," Harry explained, as he stretched out on his bed, kicking off his shoes. Now that he rested, he did not feel especially ill and wanted to talk. The snake had released Harry's neck and slithered on the bed next to the wizard.

With a smile Harry gushed, "Issamir was great. You should have seen him buttering up Nagini. Arrogant git! That snake was as bad as Voldemort. I can't believe we got away, but it seemed like there weren't that many death eaters around. And Voldemort wasn't there either; at least I couldn't feel him there." He pointed to his scar, then hissed his thanks to Issamir.

Despite the little matter of the horcrux in his body, Harry felt better than he had expected. Killing Nagini and escaping with nary a scratch, and leaving through the public elevator, left him with a sense of accomplishment.

"Voldemort's going to blow his top when he finds out," he laughed, "I almost wish I could be there."

"We were lucky that he wasn't there," Hermione countered severely, bringing Harry back to earth, "We never would have escaped if he had been. I wonder what he was doing? It can't be good. But what's important now is the horcrux. How are you going to kill it? Can you do it before it gains more strength? It looks like it's barely affecting you right now."

Ron chipped in, "Yeah, Harry, we'll have plenty of time to talk afterwards. Get rid of that thing as fast as you can."

"OK, OK, I get your point. Let me concentrate for a minute." Harry relaxed into his pillow, closing his eyes. The horcrux remained inside of him, of that he was sure, but he could not pinpoint its location. For a moment he felt something in his stomach, then it disappeared. Something felt very different about this horcrux than the others, and Harry did not feel sorry about it in the least. The pain of the other battles remained fresh in his mind, and he had no desire to go through it again. Still this felt so strange, and Harry could not avoid a sense of insecurity. The other times, he knew more or less what he had to do, even though terribly hard. Now he dealt with the unknown.

While thinking this through, Harry relaxed. He realized how tired he felt, and after all it was almost three in the morning. Before long, he fell asleep.

"I have left you alone, Harry," he heard in his head, an angry hiss of a voice, "and look what you have done. I am upset now, Harry. Truly upset. Recently I have been distracted by other matters, but I have not forgotten about you. You have overstayed your welcome on this planet, Harry Potter. There is no longer room for the two of us. You have irritated me one time too many." Though asleep, Harry understood that this was not a dream. Voldemort had renewed their link, but this time the communication would not be one sided.

"You cannot kill me, Tom Riddle. You have tried and failed. There is a prophecy. I know it, and you do not. I know that the prophecy ends with your death. Your days are numbered, Tom."

Voldemort must have been surprised, for he delayed his response.

"I see you have gained a certain amount of control over your mind. Quite an accomplishment; you should be commended. But you have not spent the years I have in developing my mind. You are no match for me, Harry. Do not delude yourself."

"I know more about you than you can imagine, Tom," Harry responded, "You are a coward. When have you ever fought a fair fight with me? I have no reason to fear you. Only I truly know you."

"You know nothing, Harry!" Voldemort spat, enraged, "I have powers you will never know, much less understand. Never has any wizard gained the power and knowledge that I have. No longer am I a wizard; I am much more. You are lying about the prophecy. You know that you must die. I am pleased that you are showing more spirit than in the past. It will make killing you even more of a pleasure. I must take my leave now, Harry, but we will meet again. Soon."

Harry's rage subsided and he returned to a more restful sleep. Ron and Hermione had stayed in his room, holding hands for a time, and watching Harry in near silence.

As Harry's breathing became regular and his face relaxed, Hermione finally whispered, "I think he's asleep." She waved her hand over him but felt no magical aura emanating from his body. Taking a chance, she grazed her hand on Harry's cheek. Nothing happened. "I think the horcrux is dead, Ron. I can touch him."

Ron stood and approached the bed, "Yeah, I think you're right. He looks exhausted. I'm beat too." Soon the two friends had returned to their chairs, shoes strewn about on the carpet, and they closed their eyes from exhaustion Hermione's shoulder hurt, but she refused to seek treatment for it, only allowing Ron to perform the asperius pain-reducing spell. It could wait.

Several hours later, Harry awoke with a start. Light flickered into the room around the edges of the window shades. The sun had already risen high in the sky outside, he could tell, as he tried to remember why he lay on top of his bed fully clothed. The sight of Hermione and Ron sprawled over their chairs awkwardly, sound asleep, surprised him even more.

"The horcrux!" he whispered to himself, and he tried to locate it within his body, but he could sense nothing. Sitting up in the bed, he rubbed his eyes and put on his glasses, internally examined his body again. Nothing. He felt perfectly normal. Could it be? Could the horcrux have died while he slept?

Swinging his legs off the bed, Harry sat with his hands gripping the crumpled sheets and bedspread. The vision of the death eater impaled by the broken table leg came to his mind involuntarily. At the time, he did not realize the gruesomeness of the scene. He also replayed the head of Draco Malfoy smashing against the stone wall, his presumably dead body slumping to the cold, grey floor. The realization of what had happened started to sink in. He had killed a man. Two men. His head slumped down.

The rustling of the sheets awakened Hermione, who had slept restlessly in the chair. Every half an hour or so she would check on Harry, see that he remained asleep, and then close her eyes again. This time she knew Harry had awakened, but at first she only opened one eye, making no movement. She could see that Harry looked fine physically, but something was wrong. Finally when Harry looked down at his feet, she quietly moved from her chair and sat next to him on the bed. Ron remained sound asleep.

"Are you OK, Harry?" she whispered, as she wrapped her good arm around his back. Harry did not look up but gave a slight nod.

After a few moments, he whispered, "I killed a man, Hermione." His voice sounded cold and troubled. "I wonder how many more I'll kill before he gets me or I get him." Hermione knew that Draco must have died from the force of the reducto spell.

"It was an accident, Harry. You didn't know he was there. Draco made his choice, and he paid the price." She pulled Harry an inch closer to her. The two friends sat quietly for a few moments, their hair pointing in all directions after having just awakened.

"He wasn't the only one," Harry added softly, "I killed another one after I killed the snake. That was an accident too, but I killed him." He did not describe what had happened, as the image of the table leg protruding through the man's back in the room covered by the blood of Nagini far exceeded anything he had ever seen. Hermione knew better than to ask for details.

"You're the one who always tells me, 'This is a war.' People will die on both sides. They have died. The difference is that you feel badly about it afterwards."

Harry finally looked up, turning towards Hermione. They looked into each other's eyes for several moments, their faces only inches apart. Hermione thought she knew every one of Harry's expressions, but this time she could not read his eyes.

Finally Harry snarled, "There's at least one more that I'm going to kill. And that one will not be an accident."


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Don't Change Anything

"I believe that you are correct, Harry," Albus Dumbledore stated after listening to Harry's tale of the encounter with Nagini and the horcrux, "I believe that Voldemort miscalculated severely."

"Exactly, Professor," Harry agreed, sipping on pumpkin juice provided by Winky, "The horcrux basically just died on its own. I didn't have to do anything to it, or hardly anything. He never should have used a living creature as a horcrux."

Winky had provided the two wizards a simple but tasty lunch, and now busied herself in the kitchen and elsewhere in the small flat before returning to Hogwarts in a few minutes. Dumbledore insisted that her time in the flat be as limited as possible in order not to cause questions at the castle. Harry noted that the Winky appeared to be a different elf to the butterbeer dependent wreck that she had become following the grant of her freedom by Mr. Crouch. As much as he hated to admit it (and he had no intention of ever mentioning it to Hermione), slavery agreed with her.

Two days had passed since the events at the ministry, and Harry had finally convinced himself that the horcrux truly had been destroyed. Or perhaps self-destructed. He recalled his conversations with Ron and Hermione, her shoulder now healed, where they painstakingly reviewed every detail. Ron thought that Harry must have subconsciously attacked the horcrux while he slept, but Harry could not be sure. He recalled the conversation with Voldemort, but for reasons he could not explain, he decided not to inform his friends. That was personal, something between Voldemort and him, and Harry wanted no interference. Finally, Harry convinced the others that one way or the other, the horcrux no longer existed.

"Voldemort made a mistake. It wouldn't be the first time. Making a living creature a horcrux was stupid, plain and simple," he concluded. Somehow knowing that Voldemort could commit such a basic blunder gave the three hope. A chink in the armor.

"Yes," the Professor hummed in his leather armchair, deep in thought as he stroked his snow-white goatee. Winky provided her master with a mug of what Harry thought must be mead. "Arrogance, Harry. Pure arrogance. That has always been one of Tom's greatest weaknesses. We must keep that in mind; it may be of great use to you in the future."

Harry did inform his mentor about the conversation with Voldemort, for he knew that Dumbledore would not repeat it to anyone. He was a dead man, after all, to everyone but Harry. Dumbledore smiled his approval at the repartee between the two, Harry giving as good as he got.

"I can assure you, Harry, that Voldemort is more worried now than he has ever felt. You have taken one of his most precious possessions by killing the serpent. You have shown that he can no longer enter your mind at will. But you now must take special care, for Voldemort may soon become desperate. Do not underestimate his power or his willingness to cause unlimited damage in his quest for ultimate power. We have already seen evidence of that these past days."

Indeed, Harry and the others soon learned why Voldemort and many of his death eaters had been absent when Harry killed Nagini. The Daily Prophet managed to print an edition, which lately occurred erratically three or four times per week, detailing at least some of the horrors caused by Voldemort and his followers. More than a dozen targets had been struck throughout the country, an offer of proof by the dark lord of his ability to strike anywhere at anytime. The locations of the attacks had been well planned, spread out more or less evenly so that the dark mark could be viewed by at least three-fourths of the wizarding population. Most distressingly, more than a dozen people died, including a ten year old girl, who would have entered Hogwarts next year.

Harry refused to allow his spirits to sink too much at the news.. Remus Lupin gave a pep talk to Harry and the others after the news came out.

"There are losses in every war, and this is no exception. We must also focus on the positive. The Order is reforming. It prevented attacks on three locations. A pair of death eaters were killed and three captured. They are being interrogated right now, though I doubt they have any important information. Harry has also indicated that he has made progress in his task. We must not lose our nerve!"

Dumbledore nodded in agreement as Harry recounted the werewolf's words.

"I am glad the Order is having some effect, but it is far to little, and there are far too few to serve as a true opposition. You are the key, Harry, let us be plain about it. In the past I have tried to deflect the burden that is upon you, but we are late in the game now." The old man stared intently at the young wizard and moved on, "What is your next plan?"

"We have eliminated five horcruxes, sir: The diary, the ring, the cup, the locket, and Nagini. If we are right, there should be one more. My only thought is to try to retrieve the memory from Voldemort himself, through this." Harry pointed at his zig-zag scar. "I'd rather not, to tell the truth, but I don't know what else we can do."

Professor Dumbledore gripped his cane, and began pacing the living room of his small flat, slowly shaking his head. Winky shot out of the kitchen, worry etched on her face, but the old man waved his hand at the elf, wordlessly instructing her to return to her tasks.

"We are missing something, Harry," he muttered, "I am sure of it."

Harry searched his memory, looking for any loose end, any overlooked tidbit. Suddenly, he thought of something that had gnawed at him off and on for months.

"Professor, remember your memory of Tom Riddle on Knockturn Alley?"

"Yes, vividly. There is something about that incident that has bothered me since I first relived it in the pensieve a few years ago. I had not shown it to you before, as I thought it would only confuse you, but you are right to focus on it."

"It seemed to me that it happened not long after the memory at the old lady's house. What was her name? Hipsabah?"

"Hepzibah Smith. Yes, I determined as best I could, though I was unable to determine the date of the Hepzibah Smith memory exactly, that the incident recounted by my memory must have occurred within two months, no more than three."

"He had murdered again during that time. In fact, I think that he had just committed murder again," Harry declared, startling himself, for he had not completely understood his unease before. He hopped to his feet and continued, excitement in his voice, "I think he had just committed the murder, Professor. I can't explain why. Somehow I just know. He had something in his hand, do you remember? Could that have been a horcrux?" Dumbledore closed his eyes, trying to review his memory the old-fashioned way.

"Logic would say that the probability that Tom Riddle had just created a horcrux moments before I happened to bump into him is extremely low. However, logic does not control all aspects of life. I am convinced that there are times when we are meant to know something. The chance I would run into Tom at all that day was extremely low, for as I recall, I had no intention to visit Knockturn Alley. Professor Rumpole planned to go, but he took ill; I agreed to perform the task in his stead. Yes, Harry, I do have the feeling that I was meant to meet Tom Riddle that day. That is why I have puzzled over that memory more than all the others combined."

"And the vampire," Harry recalled, running his fingers through his hair, "I forgot his name, but he had a terribly guilty look on his face. Of course vampires always sort of look like that, but he acted extremely nervous . . . kept looking back."

"Correct. His name was Cassius Mortenson, a particularly unpleasant man, even before becoming a vampire. Yes, I also puzzled over his demeanor that day." Dumbledore wished he had the pensieve at hand. Harry wished he had brought it with him, and considered going back to Grimmauld Place to retrieve it. After all it would only take a few minutes. But a thought occurred to him for the first time.

"This Cassius would still be alive, right. I mean, he's a vampire. They live practically forever, unless they are killed in the correct way."

Dumbledore searched his memory, "As far as I know he is living and is somewhere in Britain. You are thinking of questioning him, correct?"

"Sure," replied Harry, looking almost eye to eye with the taller man, hunched-over by his infirmities, "If he was involved in the murder, and something tells me he was, his information could be exactly what we need. Then I wouldn't have to try digging it out of Voldemort's head."

"I think I am feeling well enough for a bit of adventure," Dumbledore remarked with a mischievous glint in his blue eyes. The cogs in his brain turned at full speed. "Yes, I think a bit of adventure may be just what we need. In fact, I think it would be best if you accompanied me, Harry. About time you saw some of the darker side of the wizarding world."

Arrangements had been made. Harry returned to his home that afternoon and sat down in his bedroom with Ron and Hermione. Passing by the room Hermione shared with Ginny, he realized that he had hardly seen or spoken to Ginny since the Weasleys had arrived. Instantly he felt a wave of guilt pass through him. He had not been a good host to the Weasleys, and to Ginny in particular. She must really hate him now.

The nearly omniscient Hermione sensed Harry's discomfort.

"She's been OK, Harry. We've been talking quite a lot. She doesn't want you to worry about her."

"I haven't seen her around much," Harry commented, thankful that Hermione knew how to broach the subject, "What has she been doing?"

"Well, you haven't been around much yourself, you know. She's been here part of the time, and part of the time she's been in the shop with Fred and George." She saw worry line Harry's face at the thought of Ginny spending time in such a dangerous public area, so she tried to assure him, "The twins say they have placed special wards of their own making on Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, and that she's as safe there as anywhere. She's doing work in the back workshop where it's completely protected, according to them."

"Hermione's right. Ginny's been fine, mate. No worries there," Ron interjected, standing close to Hermione. His arm left his side for a moment as if about to seek her hand, but immediately he retracted it.

Harry felt only slightly better about Ginny, but he could not afford to be distracted. He had promised Dumbledore that he would return by about 9:00 pm.

"Thanks for letting me know, Hermione. Please apologize for me. I'll try to find time to talk to her, but not now. You need to help me. We may have a lead for the last horcrux, and I am going with the person that I've been seeing to try to find someone. It would be best if I disguise myself, just in case somebody might notice me. Remember we talked about it after that mess at Diagon Alley back in August. I especially need to cover my scar."

Ron and Hermione glanced at each other nervously but remained silent. Harry had been so focused on finding Cassius Mortenson and hopefully the final horcrux that it never occurred to him that he might meet resistance from his friends.

"This sounds dangerous, Harry," Hermione warned cautiously, "Have you really thought this through?"

"OF COURSE it's dangerous," Harry retorted incredulously, jaw dropping, "EVERYTHING is dangerous now. We can't go out the door without putting our lives in risk. But this isn't one fourth as dangerous as what we did the other day." He looked at his friends severely, and they looked at their feet, hurt by his chastisement. Harry did not feel especially sorry, but he tried to be conciliatory. "Look, I'm trying to do things as safely as I can. The alternative to what I'm going to do is to enter Voldemort's mind though this bloody scar of mine. I'm not especially anxious to do that, if you know what I mean. But we HAVE to find the final horcrux, and this just MIGHT work." The aura he emitted let his friends know that further discussion of the matter would not be welcomed.

"We're just worried, Harry," Hermione defended Ron and herself, "but we'll help you. You know we'll do whatever we can. Just be as careful as you can be." Ron nodded his agreement.

Harry thanked them, and Hermione ran off to find her makeup kit and rushed back to Harry's room in a minute.

"While we were at school, I had my mum send me some extra thick foundation creams. We need something really thick to cover your scar. It's so rough; regular make up won't do much." And thus Hermione went to work, lecturing the boys on the finer points of applying makeup, which the two young males found especially uninteresting. They knew better than to interrupt, however.

After about an hour of work, Harry inspected himself in the mirror. With her wand, Hermione had slightly shortened Harry's hair, and after initially turning it a bright pink, they settled on blond. She transfigured the wire rims to Harry's glasses to be darker and thicker. After carefully and lovingly applying the foundation and other touches that Harry did not understand, he almost did not recognize himself.

"That looks great, Hermione. Maybe I should keep it this way."

Hermione smiled at the complement. She had thoroughly enjoyed the process of applying the makeup, going out of her way to caress the skin on Harry's face often, as well as running her fingers through his hair when deciding how short to make it. Harry noticed that Ron looked a bit put out by the whole process, and Harry half wished that she would get it over with. The other half did not complain, however, especially given the form-fitting sweater and jeans his female friend displayed, of which Harry had a fabulous view.

As Harry prepared to leave, Ron and Hermione's jokes about Harry's "make-over" ceased, and a nervous tension resulted. Hermione especially fretted, biting her lip over and over again. She had a bad feeling.

"Are you really sure about this?" she asked, staring deep into his green eyes, perhaps trying to glean information that her friend might be unwilling to disclose verbally.

More than ever, Harry wanted to tell them about the mysterious stranger that he met with so often. The words reached the tip of his tongue, "Dumbledore is alive," but he did not speak them.

"I am sure, Hermione. I'll be careful. Hopefully I'll be back tomorrow or the next day." The three friends embraced. Every time they parted, the thought inevitably surfaced in the back of their minds: Would this be the last time?

As Harry proceeded down the stairs and past the sitting room, he heard the crackling of the fire, indicating someone coming through the floo. Pausing to check, he jumped slightly as he saw Ginny step gracefully out of the fireplace. A gasp almost escaped Harry's lips. If Hermione's clothing had been form-fitting, Ginny's must have been applied with glue. "How can they get into those clothes?" Harry thought to himself, a question only, most certainly not a complaint. Ginny noticed Harry, so he stepped into the sitting room, as he heard Ginny's gasp.

"Is that you, Harry?" she asked, "What have you done to yourself?" She recognized Harry's clothing, his best dark jeans and long-sleeve shirt, and his manner of walking, but otherwise would not have known him.

Harry smiled broadly at his former girlfriend's shock, and briefly explained, "I have to meet someone later, and I don't want to be recognized."

Ginny knew Harry too well to accept his statement at face value, and her expression turned from bemused shock to wary disbelief. Harry on the other hand could not stop staring at her. She surely did not dress like THAT at Hogwarts.

"Why are these girls doing this to me?" he wondered jokingly, "don't they know I have enough on my mind?"

"I'm sorry I haven't seen you lately, Ginny," Harry apologized, "I've been really busy."

"I know, Harry," the redhead responded, shaking her hair in that way of hers. Harry's stomach fluttered. "I've been busy too. Helping the twins in the back room, though there isn't as much to do now. Business is way down. Actually, there is no business. Nobody came in the shop today." Whether she meant to or not, every movement she made distracted Harry from her words, which he only half heard.

"Oh," he muttered, trying to remember what she had just said. Something about bad business at the shop. "I'm sorry to hear that. Are you OK? How've you been?"

"Yes, Harry, I'm fine. I know you have a lot to do right now. Don't worry about me, OK."

"I'll try," Harry asserted as he smiled. Ginny shook her head looking at the strange appearance of her friend. "What do you think?" Harry asked, raising his arms and giving a half turn, "Do you think I should keep it this way?" referring to his altered hair and appearance.

"Not a chance, Harry. I like you the way you really are. Don't change anything!"

They smiled at each other again, and Harry felt loath to leave, but he knew Dumbledore expected him soon.

"I have to go, Ginny. Maybe we can talk a bit in a day or two."

"I hope so, Harry. Good luck with whatever you're doing." She continued to smile, but could not hide the worry in her eyes.

"My name is Alfred Woods, Harry. Understand?" Harry nodded his understanding to Professor Dumbledore's instructions. The old man stood straighter than he had since Harry first saw him in October, and he wore a fine muggle suit, grey pinstripes, with a dark red tie.

Switching to an excellent American accent of the New England dialect, Dumbledore continued, "I am an elderly wizard from the Boston area here on business of a private nature. In the circles we will be traveling, they will not inquire further. If nothing else, they are discreet. As I am not familiar with Great Britain, and given the normal infirmities of old age, you are traveling with me as my guide and assistant. What name would you like to use?"

Harry considered his options. It would be nice to use "James," his father's name, or perhaps "Sirius" after his godfather, but of course the whole idea here was to disguise his identity. He had always been fond of the name "Daniel," the name of one of his few muggle friends as a young child, until his family moved away. "Whatever happened to him," Harry wondered, not having thought of his long lost friend for many years.

"Daniel," he decided, then settling on a surname added, "Wilson. Daniel Wilson. Am I supposed to be related to you?"

"The grandson of a friend, I believe. That should do for our purposes," Dumbledore stated as he held the door of his flat open for Harry to pass through. Harry however motioned the older man to go first, and reaching around, held the door open. Soon the two walked down the street outside Dumbledore's building.

"Why aren't we apparating, Professor?" Harry asked.

"Because our first stop is only a few blocks away." In fact barely a minute passed from that moment until the professor turned abruptly into a small Chinese restaurant, a confused young wizard on his heels. Only a few diners remained at the late hour, but Dumbledore showed no intention of claiming a table. Instead he walked straight to the kitchen and there acknowledged a man whom Harry assumed to be the owner. Harry would have expected a short Chinese man, but instead found a tall Englishman, perhaps sixty years of age, lean and with sandy hair slightly greying. He appeared to be a "hands-on" owner, as he wore a full-length white apron, stained by remnants of the evening's offerings.

The unnamed man tilted his head towards a side door. Harry determined that Dumbledore and the man had already spoken, for they appeared to have an understanding. The professor led the way, opening the door and entering a small, cluttered office. Another door appeared to the right.

Pulling his wand out of his coat pocket, Dumbledore softly spoke, "Alohomora." After the door clicked, they entered a storage room containing stacks of boxes and supplies. Harry felt thoroughly confused now, but he trusted that Dumbledore knew where to go. Moving through the aisle formed by the stacks of supplies, they suddenly emerged into an open area, in which he saw a cheap round plastic table with four plastic chairs surrounding it. A man already sat in one of the chairs. He clearly was a vampire.

"You must be Alfred Woods," he droned while standing and bowing slightly.

"And you must be Zachary Thompson," Dumbledore responded in his New England accent. Though no expert on American accents, Dumbledore surely could have fooled Harry. Thompson again nodded and waved his hand at the flimsy chairs. The three sat down, Harry seated across from the vampire, as he felt it more proper that "Mr. Woods" should sit closer.

Dumbledore glanced at Harry and explained dismissively, "This is Daniel Wilson. He is helping an old man get around this unfamiliar country."

Harry had no idea how this meeting had been arranged by the professor, and he had no chance to ask. Thompson had the appearance of a man in his thirties, though Harry knew that he could be decades older, for vampires aged extremely slowly. He had closely cropped blond hair, neatly combed so that not a hair fell out of place. Harry self-consciously thought about his own messy hair until he realized that at its shorter length, it did not appear especially tussled. The vampire dressed impeccably, a typical trait of vampires, in a blue suit, deep red tie, and spit-polished black shoes. Given the formal dress of the two men, Harry felt woefully underdressed, though he had put on his best black jeans and dark blue long-sleeve shirt.

"Thank you for meeting me, Mr. Thompson," Dumbledore continued, his accent not wavering, "I am pleased that my information was sufficiently satisfactory to convince you to meet with me."

"Suffice it to say that I owed Albus Dumbledore a debt. If he provided you with my name, then I must assume that he wished for me to meet with you and to be of assistance to the extent of my abilities," Thompson replied in the typically silky voice of vampires. It made Harry's skin crawl.

"Yes, well I last spoke with Dumbledore, a close friend of mine for more than one hundred years, several months prior to his unfortunate passing, and I was unsure whether his name would still exert the same attraction as in years past." Harry enjoyed the elegant wordplay of the two well-educated men.

Thompson's face remained impassive, another trait of his species, as he concluded, "Dead or alive, a debt must be repaid, Mr. Woods."

"Well stated. I will come straight to the point. As you can see, my days on this earth are numbered, and there are certain, shall we say, loose ends which I desire to tie prior to my departure. These matters are and shall remain private; however, I can assure you that they in no way involve any manner of retribution or physical violence. In short, I need information in order to be able to right certain wrongs."

"My dealings with Dumbledore occurred many years ago, Mr. Woods, so I do not know if I can be of assistance to you, but I will most certainly provide you with whatever information I may possess."

Harry had little first-hand knowledge of vampires, though he did briefly meet one at one of Professor Slughorn's parties. From his classes, he knew that vampires tended towards vanity, lacked emotional range, and were considered dark in nature. But as Professor Lupin had taught them in third year, this told only part of the story. Just as with humans, vampires could be good or bad, and that wizards had simple-mindedly labeled vampires as "dark." While they could be deceptive, in Lupin's opinion they were probably less so than humans. In reality, they tended to be direct and honest, but oftentimes wizards did not welcome their honestly.

Dumbledore was an actor now, pure and simple, and he remained "in character."

In his perfect New England accent, he explained, "I do not expect you to have any direct information, Mr. Thompson, of interest to me. My only request is that you arrange for a meeting between a person of your nature and me." Harry knew that vampires disliked being called vampires, and polite wizards used euphemisms in referring to the species.

"Who is this person?"

"His name is Cassius. Cassius Mortenson. Albus assured me that you would know his whereabouts." The vampire's dark eyes betrayed his surprise for an instant, but then returned to their laconic nature.

"In fact I do know Mr. Mortenson, though I most certainly would not include him in a list of my friends. He is not the kind of individual that most wizards desire to meet."

"I am well aware of his nature, Mr. Thompson, and I thank you for your concern. However, I am quite able to defend myself, and in any event, I doubt that Mr. Mortenson would desire to harm me."

The vampire felt wary and displeased, of that Harry could be sure. Nevertheless, he agreed to contact Cassius immediately to see if a meeting could be arranged that evening. Apparently Thompson knew Cassius' location, for he did not indicate any anticipated difficulty in locating him. The vampire stood and briefly nodded at the seated pair, and in a moment he walked out the door.  
"Well, Daniel," opined Dumbledore, still in character, "that went about as well as could be hoped. The question now is whether Cassius will agree to see us, and where."

"Prof. . . , uh, Mr. Woods, what did Professor Dumbledore do that Mr. Thompson seems to feel such a debt. I don't see where it is doing him any good trying to help us."

"That is a long story for another day, but from what I know, which is quite a lot, (Dumbledore winked at Harry), Dumbledore helped Thompson out of a bit of a jam many years ago, and in return extracted certain promises from him. Those promises hopefully will serve our benefit today."

Harry nervously stood and paced around the open area of the storage room. Taking a look around, he saw a small refrigerator, a microwave oven, and a coffee maker. This must be the break area, he thought. What would it be like to have a normal job, he wondered, working eight hours per day, two ten minute breaks and half an hour for lunch? Somehow he knew that never would he live such a life.

Returning his thoughts to the matter at hand, Harry asked, "Do you think Cassius could be dangerous, sir?"

"Is he dangerous? Without a doubt. However, I do not believe that we have anything to fear from him. My concern lies with the surroundings of our visit, for I do believe that he will agree to see us but at a place of his choosing. We have no option but to agree."

In fact, the professor was right on the money, as Mr. Thompson returned within half an hour with the news.

"Mr. Mortenson has informed me that he can see you tonight, but as he has a number of other pressing engagements, the meeting must be held at his business establishment, The Blood Pub. I can provide you with directions if that should be necessary."


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

As Long as it Takes

Harry and Professor Dumbledore discovered that The Blood Pub was located in an especially seedy part of London, some distance from Kings Crossing, the only part of London Harry knew well. He had a bad feeling as Dumbledore and he apparated to the train station, intending to take a cab the rest of the way. Obviously The Blood Pub had to be a hang-out for vampires, and although vampires had never done harm to Harry in his life, he nevertheless did not long for their company. Thompson's directions proved to be accurate, as the cabbie brought his taxi to a halt in front of the most run-down hotel Harry had ever seen, most inaccurately called the Paradise Inn. Perhaps it had last been painted during Dumbledore's years as a student at Hogwarts.

Looking at Harry with a concerned brow, the cabbie warned, "This isn' exactly the place for a youngster, if you catch my drift. Lot o' unsavory types 'round 'ere. I'd be 'appy to take you a bit further, if you like. Not quite so rough jus' a few blocks a'ead." Across the street two shabby characters could barely been seen under the dim streetlight, wobbling down the street, holding paper bags in their hands.

Dumbledore merely took out a roll of bills and peeled off a few to pay the driver, responding, "Thank you, but this is in fact our destination." The cabbie shrugged, took his fare, and shifted the car into drive. In a moment Harry and Dumbledore stood in front of the dilapidated Paradise Inn, but instead of entering the rat-infested structure, which did not interest Harry in the least, they walked to the side of the building, finding a dark narrow alley. That in fact would be all that could be seen by muggles, but Harry could see the hotel and the old brick building next door shift apart several yards to allow the appearance of a small boxy structure. Above the plain white door ran the words, written in red of course, "The Blood Pub," but otherwise the building seemed as plain as could be. Harry thought it hardly needed to be hidden from muggles, as they likely would not notice it in the first place.

Harry moved ahead of the old man, who moved laboriously with the support of his cane, and held the door open. Dumbledore casually walked though, as if he frequented vampire bars routinely. Harry on the other hand felt out of place in the extreme. The unexpected size of the interior of the outwardly small building did not surprise him, as he had become accustomed to such marvels of the magical world. Yet in spite of his knowledge that the clientele of the drinking establishment would be of that nature, Harry could not avoid a feeling of danger in the presence of so many vampires. Perhaps forty of them had spread about the large, plushly adorned room, which reminded Harry of an old English social club for the elite of muggle society. Large leather chairs and sofas covered the plush black and red carpet, on top of which low round tables stood sprinkled about. Not one but two large fireplaces blazed in the vast area.

The individuals seated around the tables most certainly were vampires, of that there could be no doubt. When they wanted to, vampires could more or less pass for wizards, but in this pub, they let down their hair, so to speak. In reality, all of the men had short, carefully groomed hair, and the women appeared to have spent hours preparing and adorning their locks. All of them dressed to the hilt, the women in black, red or white gowns fit for the grandest balls, the men in suits or tuxedos. Some of the more flamboyant wore black capes with blood red linings. Despite the numbers in the room, which Harry would hardly have termed a "pub," an eerie quiet met his ears. Vampires speak quietly, and Harry could only hear a muted hum.

The two wizards zigzagged their way between tables to the bar. Harry felt like every eye watched him even though most of the patrons paid him no attention. Dumbledore, as usual, appeared pleased as punched to be in this establishment, showing no signs of discomfort. Returning to his American accent, he briefly spoke with the barkeeper, Harry not able to overhear them. Though of age in the magical world, Harry still was only seventeen and felt like he must be violating some law by being there, but he tried to display as much poise as possible. The bartender nodded his head several times and then walked to the end of the bar to whisper something to a waiter.

"Would you like something to drink, Daniel," Dumbledore asked, as Harry helped the old man onto a tall stool next to the bar. The bartender prepared a drink for Dumbledore, a mixture of several colored liquids into a tall glass. Upon pouring in the final ingredient, the glass emitted a greenish steam, and the bartender hurriedly placed the drink before his customer. Dumbledore waited a moment to allow the steam to subside slightly and then gingerly took a sip. He looked back at Harry, waiting for an answer to his question.

"Well, something not that strong, I think. Mead, perhaps." Harry did not especially like mead, but at least he would be able to walk at the end of the evening. He did not feel so sure about his companion.

The out-of-place wizards sat on their stools for a good fifteen minutes. Dumbledore appeared to be in an especially good mood, happy to be back in action, and he loudly entertained Harry with an explanation of American baseball and the Boston Red Sox. A true connoisseur of the sport would have taken issue with a few of his pronouncements (the "Green Monster" is not in right field), but Harry did not know any better.

At last an employee of the Blood Pub tapped "Mr. Woods" on his shoulder, and led the old and young men to an immaculately clean office. Harry marveled that not a paperclip lay out of place on the polished mahogany desk at which sat the proprietor of the drinking establishment. Cassius Mortenson rose from his chair as the two entered, bowing courteously. Harry immediately recognized the vampire, even though he had only seen him once, in a memory several decades ago. He had only aged slightly and had the appearance of a man in his late thirties or early forties, though Harry figured his age to be eighty years or more. The employee closed the door on his way out.

"I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Woods. They inform me that Albus Dumbledore sent you to see me," Cassius crooned, "A most interesting fact, if true, for Dumbledore and I could not be termed friends or even acquaintances. I only met the man on a few occasions."  
"In that you are speaking the truth, Cassius," replied Dumbledore in his normal voice, without the Bostonian accent, "For I am here. I am Albus Dumbledore."

Cassius recognized the voice but not the face, as Dumbledore lacked the long white hair and beard.

"As you well know," responded the vampire, succeeding in hiding any surprise he may have felt, "Headmaster Dumbledore died tragically this June past. The news reached all corners of the magical world, I can assure you, even to such outposts as The Blood Pub."

"Yes, I am well aware of that, but as you can see, here I sit. I did not die, but I have not allowed anyone other than my friend here to know the truth. You are now the second to know. Your doubts as to my identity are well-founded, however, so I shall provide you with a proof of my identity. In your sixth year at Hogwarts, you wrote an especially horrible essay in my Transfiguration class on the benefits and dangers of animal-to-inanimate object transfigurations. We had a somewhat testy meeting in my office, as the essay was well below the quality of your other work. That was a long time ago, Cassius. Do you recall?"

The vampire thinly smiled and nodded. Harry had not known that Cassius had been Dumbledore's student, presumably before becoming a vampire.

"I commend you for conserving your secret from the press," Cassius commented, then turning his eyes to Harry, "Why have you brought this boy with you?" Dumbledore smiled, but Harry did not know what he planned to say.

"This boy is none other than Harry Potter, though in disguise to avoid recognition. Mr. Potter is among the most powerful wizards in the world today, though he does not realize it fully. He is the wizard who will defeat Lord Voldemort, who as you know is your old friend, Tom Riddle. We need information from you, Cassius."

"I have had nothing to do with Riddle for decades, Dumbledore. You are aware of that, I believe. What information could I possibly provide you that would be of any assistance?" the vampire flatly intoned, his eyes moving between the two wizards warily. He wore a black tuxedo, with a perfectly pressed white dress shirt and deep red tie. His top hat hung on a hat rack next to the door. Harry did not know whether to believe him or not.

"Moreover," Cassius added, "why should I risk Riddle's wrath by helping you? He has done nothing ill to my kind."

"The answer to that question is quite simple, Cassius. If you refuse to answer, Harry will kill you right where you sit." The old man's amiable expression hardly changed a bit with this threat of murder. "I can assure you that Mr. Potter has more than enough power to perform the spell, and surely you know that I know how the spell must be performed. Unfortunately I no longer am the wizard I used to be, or I would not leave such distasteful work to a young man."

Harry could not help but drop his mouth in shock. Why had Dumbledore not warned him of this before? How could he simply assume Harry would do such a thing? He had no intention of killing this vampire or anyone else for that matter, other than Voldemort himself. Did not Dumbledore know him better than that?

Dumbledore had paused to allow his words to sink in, at which point he added, "I am aware of your falling-out with Tom Riddle, but I am also aware that he has decided to leave you in peace. Very unlike Tom to leave an enemy in peace, wouldn't you agree? Nevertheless, I am quite certain that you are looking out for your own interests. I can assure you that the information we require will not be known by Tom." Cassius squinted his eyes at Harry, trying to appraise the boy's true abilities.

"You should not make idle threats, Professor. While he may be powerful, he is still a boy."

"Harry, can you produce a patronus for Mr. Mortenson? I think you would agree, Cassius, that only a boy of substantial power can produce a patronus of the type you are about to see, and Harry has been able to do so since the age of thirteen." Dumbledore nodded at Harry, who stood and reluctantly grasped his wand, not enjoying this performance he had to make.

Thinking of a happy memory, the time he sat at his kitchen table laughing with Ron and Hermione about her hair, he intoned, "Expecto Patronum," and his patronus emerged from the wand. If his stag had been impressive in the past, now it could only be termed overwhelming. The brilliantly white animal practically filled the entire office, yet it moved about it with unnatural grace. Nearly blinded, the shock on Cassius' face could not be disguised by the normally impassive countenance of a vampire. Harry shocked himself, as this stag even surpassed the one at the lake when he saved Sirius.

The vampire regained his composure but did not speak for some time. Dumbledore remained silent as well, allowing Cassius the opportunity to think things through. He had no means of escape, as the building had wards against apparation, and the small interior office contained no windows by which the vampire could flee by transforming into a bat. The boy clearly possessed superior power, unlike anything he had seen with the possible exception of Tom Riddle himself. Few wizards had the power to kill a vampire, but this boy clearly did. But when push came to shove, would he truly be able to do it? In the end, the vampire decided it did not merit the risk.

"What is it you need to know so badly?" he asked in a monotone.

"Perhaps you will recall a day many decades ago when I saw you on Knockturn Alley," Dumbledore began conversationally, as if he had not just threatened to kill Cassius, "You were just a few years out of Hogwarts and spent much of your time with Tom Riddle. We briefly spoke."

Cassius' eyes darted between the two wizards as he answered, "I vaguely recall, though I do not remember what was said."  
"What we said is of no importance," Dumbledore explained, "but just a few moments later I ran into your great friend, Tom. I have reviewed this memory in a pensieve many times, Cassius, and quite clearly you looked back nervously, several times, and I have no doubt that you had just left Tom's presence. Do you deny it?" Dumbledore said these last words almost in the manner that the young Tom Riddle spoke the words, "Tell the truth."

Harry decided his role in this drama was to look tough, so he glared at the man across the desk as if he would like nothing better than to have a go at him. Whether this had any effect or not, Harry could not determine, but Cassius certainly stared at him intently before answering.

"I was with him; I do not deny it."

Continuing the narrative, Dumbledore recalled, "When I spoke to Tom a few seconds after I spoke to you, I saw him thrust an item into his pocket. It seemed to be an item of great importance to him and that he desired I not see. Our question, therefore, is simple: What was that object?"

Did Cassius know about the horcruxes, Harry wondered. Was he with Tom Riddle when he committed the murder? Harry leaned forward anticipating the answer.

"The object was a medal on a chain," Cassius finally answered. His tone of voice seemed to indicate that he could see no reason why he should not tell the truth.

"Do you know why this medal was of importance to Tom?"

"Perhaps you remember, Professor, that it was awarded to Tom at Hogwarts in his seventh year. He along with several others were awarded the medals for their service to Hogwarts as prefects or other student offices. I believe that this tradition was abandoned at some later date. The medal had the image of Gryffindor on it." Dumbledore's eyes opened wide. Obviously he knew of what the vampire spoke.

"What did Tom do with the medal?" he asked.

"I have no way of knowing that. Tom did not confide such things to me, and in any event the medal meant nothing to me."

For the first time Harry joined the conversation, "What had Riddle done that day? You know don't you?" Cassius' mouth twitched ever so slightly, but the two wizards saw it.

He responded, "I just met him a few minutes earlier. I am not sure what he did. As far as I know he was working and returning to his place of employment, Borgin and Burkes."

"You are lying," Harry stated flatly. Dumbledore deferred to his protege.

"Why should I lie?" Cassius retorted, briefly losing his temper, "Why would I know what Tom did that day?"

"I saw the memory. You were nervous and looked back for Riddle several times. You are lying. I will give you one more chance," Harry threatened. He figured he needed to play his part, though he never had played the part of bully before.

"I have told you all that I know," Cassius stated with finality, rising from his chair as if to show his two guests out. He had barely left his chair, however, when Harry whipped his wand out and pointed it directly at the vampire's chest.

"What is the spell, sir?" he growled. Was he bluffing? Cassius froze, slightly bent over his desk, waiting to see what Dumbledore would do.

"Sit down, Cassius," the white-haired wizard responded calmly, "I have no desire for violence this evening, though the decision in that regard ultimately is yours. Perhaps I can put your mind at ease. We have no intention of informing any authorities of any transgressions which you may have committed, or abetted. Even if we did, the Ministry for all practical purposes no longer exists, so we have no place to deliver you. No, our target is Lord Voldemort, your old friend, Tom Riddle. Surely you have no reason to risk your life for such a man."

Harry's wand still pointed directly at his chest, without so much as a tremble. Cassius convinced himself of the wisdom in speaking the truth.

"Tom killed a muggle just before we saw you," he explained, nodding towards Dumbledore, "Some old beggar. Someone who would not be missed by anyone. I stood as a lookout, though I did not understand why at the time. Tom manipulated me, like he manipulates his followers still. He did not inform me of his intention to kill a man, but kill he did. In the muggle way. He slit the man's throat, then immediately grasped the Hogwarts medal. I do not know what he was doing, but Tom lay on the ground in great pain for a good while, half an hour perhaps. That is why he needed a lookout. Tom never explained what he did, and I knew better than to inquire."

So the medal is a horcrux, Harry concluded sadly, for deep down he held out the hope that Voldemort had not been able to create the sixth split of his soul. Lowering his wand, he stared maliciously at the vampire, as if somehow it was all Cassius' fault. Dumbledore massaged his white goatee, deep in thought.

"Where did Tom's possessions go after his disappearance at the Potters' residence?" asked the professor.

"I no longer associated with Tom by that time, as you are well aware," Cassius responded nervously, for Harry still stood menacingly even though his wand now hung at his side, "but I do know from certain acquaintances that many of his belongings passed to Lucius Malfoy. Of what happened to the medal itself, I have no knowledge." This time Harry believed him.

As Harry left Cassius' office, he noted that occupancy of the pub at least doubled now that the hour had passed midnight. A door to the back repeatedly opened and more vampires walked in, and behind them Harry could see a bat suddenly transforming into human form. Apparently the back room served as the aerial entrance. With the additional patrons and the consumption of quantities of alcohol and perhaps other drinks (Harry did not want to think about that), the noise level increased substantially. Rarely had Harry been happier to leave a place, and as soon as he and Dumbledore turned the corner and stepped out of sight, they apparated to the small living room of the professor's flat.

The emotions which had been suppressed finally had leave to express themselves, and in a moment Harry threw himself onto the sofa with his head in his hands. Another horcrux! He had come so far, yet still had so far to go. Perhaps he had been unreasonable in his optimism that no more horcruxes existed, but that did not make the new discovery any easier to accept.

Dumbledore shuffled to the kitchen to open a bottle of a fine wine, a French merlot, and returned in a few moments with two glasses, which he set on the glass table. Filling both glasses, he slid one towards Harry, placing the other on the table as he sat down in his leather armchair. By now, he had removed his coat and tie, unbuttoning the top button of his white dress shirt.

"I share your disappointment, Harry," he empathized, "though I cannot say I am surprised. A medal! For years, Hogwarts awarded medals for various purposes. They were quite common, though for some reason Hogwarts discontinued their use. It never occurred to me that Tom would use that as a horcrux. But it does make sense, in that it had the image of Gryffindor. Unable to use an actual artifact of the founder, he chose an item with his image."

The aroma of the merlot reached Harry's nose, and he reached out for the glass to take a sip. Not having drunk wine often in his life, he found the taste to be harsh, but he took a larger sip anyway, then placing the glass back on the table. He leaned back on the sofa and looked at his friend and mentor.

"The medal could be anywhere," he moaned softly, trying to hide his feeling of despair, "We can't just march into Malfoy Manor to conduct a search."

"There will be no need for that. You may recall that Arthur Weasley, at your insistence, conducted a search of Malfoy Manor, and in fact has searched it on several occasions if memory serves me. Of course, he would not have found anything suspicious with an old Hogwarts medal. You will need to speak with Arthur."

Harry nodded. He had forgotten about Mr. Weasley's actions, and he felt slightly better that at least he had something he could do. That did not completely soothe his nerves.

"How do you think that horcrux can be destroyed? It seems most like the locket." The thought terrified Harry, as his battle with Slytherin's locket almost cost him his life, and he could not forget the initial attack of that horcrux tearing his heart apart. Could he do it again? Would he?

"Unfortunately, you may be correct," agreed Dumbledore, taking another sip of his wine. The evening's events exhausted him, and he slumped into his seat. "One thing we have discovered, however, is that each horcrux is unique. Whether that is by design or chance cannot be known, as Voldemort appears to be the first to divide his soul into multiple pieces. What I do know, Harry, is that you are rapidly coming into your own. Even in these few months since my resurrection, I have sensed the change in your magical presence. Voldemort never intended for any of his horcruxes to end up in the hands of a wizard of your power and capabilities." Dumbledore's confidence did not raise Harry's spirits much.

Recalling the events of the evening, Harry asked, "Why did you threaten to have me kill Cassius? You know I wouldn't have done it, not unless he attacked me."

The old man smiled, and explained, "From many years of experience with vampires, I can assure you that they are not especially brave creatures, and by their very nature, they are self-absorbed. I had no intention of following through on the threat, Harry, though I must applaud you for how well you played your role. Cassius most likely thought that you would not follow through with the threat, though your performance almost convinced me. In the end, as I assumed, he did not choose to take the risk."

Harry took another sip of wine. Extremely tired now that the excitement of the evening had ended, he wanted to return to his bed at Grimmauld Place. Dumbledore seemed to read his mind.

"I am quite exhausted, Harry. Tonight's events were especially taxing on a man of my age and condition." Indeed, the vigor that the old man displayed earlier in the evening had vanished. "We should both seek the comfort of our beds. You are welcome to sleep here if you like, though I imagine you would prefer your own blanket and sheets." They smiled at each other, and Harry nodded that he would return to his home.

Taking a last sip, he stood up, preparing to apparate to the hidden spot across the street from No. 17 Grimmauld Place, only to pause and ask, "How much longer do you think we have?"

"As long as it takes, Harry."

Arthur Weasley was nowhere to be found the next day, which irked Harry no end, as he had little to do until it he determined whether the Hogwarts medal could be at Malfoy Manor. Harry slept late, sleeping off the tension of the previous evening, plus the effects of the mead and wine. By the time he descended the stairs, nobody remained in the kitchen, but in a moment Dobby appeared, somehow knowing that Harry needed to eat. Upon seeing the house elf, Harry realized that he was famished, and he ate heartily, all the while talking to Dobby.

The medal remained on his mind all through breakfast, when it dawned on him.

"Dobby, I always forget that you lived in Malfoy Manor for many years. Can I ask you a question about it?"

Dobby hopped nervously. Even though he no longer served the Malfoy family, he found it difficult to divulge secrets about them; nevertheless, his love for Harry overcame these inhibitions.

"Yes, Harry Potter can ask Dobby anything."

"Lucius Malfoy liked to collect dark-magic objects, right?" Dobby nodded. "There is one item that I'm especially interested in, and I'd like to know if you ever saw it at Malfoy Manor. It was a medal on a chain. The medal was from Hogwarts from quite a few years ago, and it has the image of Gryffindor on it."

"Oh yes, Harry Potter," squealed the elf, "Dobby knows exactly the medal. Master Lucius was very proud of the medal. Master said that the medal belonged to the dark lord, that it was among the belongings of the dark lord after the dark lord disappeared."

"Do you know where it is?" Harry asked excitedly. This may be easier than he imagined.

"Yes, yes. Master placed the medal in a frame and hung it on the wall of the library. The medal has been there for many years, ever since the dark lord disappeared."

"That's excellent, Dobby" Harry responded with a grin, "At least we know where it is. I need that medal badly. Somehow I have to get into that house and take that medal. Do you know how to get into Malfoy Manor, Dobby?"

"No. Malfoy Manor has many protections. Only a slave elf can come and go unless he comes with an invited wizard. Dobby cannot enter any longer."

"Oh well, that would have been too easy," Harry muttered, only slightly disappointed. At least he had a good idea where the medal may be located. They could work on a plan to break into Malfoy Manor later.

At that moment, he saw Hermione walk through the kitchen door, her eyes red and puffy. She had been crying.


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Don't Ever Leave Me

Hermione walked into the kitchen, clearly perturbed, but upon seeing Harry, she smiled genuinely, and briefly laughed at his hair, still artificial blond. Harry had showered, so the make-up no longer covered his scar, but the hair color had to be corrected by a counter spell.

"Do you want me to change it back?" she asked. Harry nodded, and in a moment his hair returned to its normal messy black, though a bit shorter than before. He almost looked like a clean-cut kid.

"How'd it go?" she asked, taking a seat next to her friend. She had not taken much care in her appearance that morning, a pair of comfortable grey sweat pants and an extra large plain white t-shirt. Harry quickly thought that he had never seen her dressed so plainly.

"Pretty well, I guess," Harry replied, not entirely certain whether the previous evening had been a success or failure. "It kind of depends how you want to look at it." An entirely unsatisfactory answer, Harry knew, but he refused to say more until Ron could be with them.

"Where is everyone anyway?" Harry asked, as his home appeared to be devoid of Weasleys.

"They all went to the twins' store," Hermione informed him, "and then they are planning to visit some relatives in the Manchester area. Ron didn't want to go, but it was a family thing. I told him he needed to go. They wanted me to go too, but I said I would stay here with you, just in case."

"Just in case what?" Harry laughed, "To keep me from diving off the roof?" Hermione tried to scowl, but she could only manage a smirk.

"Just in case you need my help. I didn't want to go with them anyway."

"Well, I'm going to need your help, that's for sure. When are Ron and the rest of them coming back."

"Not until tonight, they thought," she answered, and the perturbed expression returned to her face.

"Is something wrong, Hermione? It looks like something is bothering you."

Hermione shook her head, "No, nothing is . . . , Yes, something is wrong, but . . . . ." She did not finish the sentence.

"But what?"

"It's just that you have so much on your shoulders right now; this is nothing important. I don't want to bother you with stupid personal problems." She pushed a few strands of hair out of her eyes, pushing them back into the bushiness of the rest of her brown hair. Clearly she had spent little time preparing her hair that morning.

Far too intrigued to drop the subject, Harry had an idea that the "stupid personal problem" had to do with a certain red-headed boy who happened to be his best friend.

"Does this have to do with Ron?"

Hermione glanced up at her friend, and said, "Am I that easy to read?"

"Well, it didn't take a genius. I'm not completely oblivious."

"I know you aren't, but that big lug of a friend of yours can be, that's for sure." Hermione's eyes squinted with anger.

"So I take it the two of you had a little spat?" Harry asked with a touch of amusement. He long before had become accustomed to their verbal battles, and after the events of the last day, he found it refreshing to discuss something normal for a change. The witch frowned and nodded her head. She shifted one leg under her body, turning slightly towards Harry.

"You know we've been, . . ., together lately, right? I mean, boyfriend and girlfriend." Harry nodded, and he saw Hermione's hands fidget nervously. "We don't ever do anything when you're around, because, well, it just seems weird. But you haven't been here much lately, and we've had a lot of time to be, you know, together."

"What you're trying to say," Harry offered helpfully, "is that you guys have been snogging every chance you get." Hermione's face reddened instantly, but she nodded to indicate that Harry hit the mark.

"Some times we're, . . ., doing that, but then later we seem to find something to argue about. It's hard to be his girlfriend, Harry," she exclaimed, pounding her fist on the thick wooden table. "There's a lot of things I like about Ron, but he can be a complete and absolute git!" Her anger overcame her embarrassment.

"Do you want to tell me what happened?" Harry asked gently, "Something bad happened, right?" He pushed his empty plate away from him, and turned his chair a few inches towards his friend.

"Oh nothing that bad. We just got into a big argument. Big even for us." She looked up at the dingy white ceiling, an expression of disbelief on her face.

"That's big!" Harry joked, trying to lighten the mood.

"Well, we've had some big ones. I'm just not sure that this was a good idea, being with Ron, I mean." She lowered her head and paused as she contemplated her relationship. "Maybe we just let our hormones get out of control. I mean, I felt great at first, having a boyfriend and all, but now I'm sorry about it. Now I don't know what to do."

"I know what you mean," Harry sympathized, thinking of Ginny, "It's kind of hard to put the cat back in the bag once it's out."

"Exactly. Things can never be the same if we break up. Not between Ron and me, or even between the three of us. That's been one of the problems," Hermione added, instantly regretting her final remark.

"You mean, I've been one of the problems?" Harry's sympathetic expression vanished, replaced by a grimace..

"No, you haven't done anything wrong. It's just, well Ron can be an extremely jealous boy, and the fact that I'm so concerned about you, and talk about you a lot, bothers him. We've had a few rows about it," Hermione explained, refusing to look at Harry but focusing on a chipped bit of plaster on the wall behind the kitchen table.

Up to this point, Harry surprised himself that he had not been bothered by their conversation, other than concern for a hurting friend, but this last comment suddenly caused his nerves to jump. Somehow, he always caused problems for those closest to him. No matter what he did or did not do, said or did not say, he had a negative effect on everything and everyone he touched. His eyes squinted, but Hermione instantly read Harry's changed mood.

"Don't start blaming yourself, Harry Potter. I know that look," she exclaimed, finally turning to look at him, "You've had nothing to do with this. Just because that lump of a friend of yours can't understand that you and I are best friends and that nothing is going to change that . . . ." She could not say any more due to the lump in her throat.

Harry thought back over the past couple of days, trying to figure out what may have sparked this row. In a few moments, it dawned on him.

"Last night, right? When you put the make-up on me?" She did go a bit overboard, Harry recalled, touching his face and hair, and Ron did not look at all happy about it.

Reluctantly, Hermione nodded, looking ashamed about the whole affair, and she averted her eyes again.

"Ron thought that I . . .'enjoyed' . . . putting the make-up on you a little too much. I told him . . ., well, we had an argument. A huge argument."

Up until this time, Hermione had maintained her composure, but Harry knew enough about girls to know when tears would flow. What should he do? On the one hand, it seemed that his friendship with Hermione largely contributed to the current friction between his best friends, and if he moved to comfort her, perhaps he would just be making the problem worse. On the other hand, he considered this girl his best friend, and she needed his friendship now more than ever. The few seconds which passed during his musings allowed enough time for the first tears to fall, and Harry knew that he had to comfort her, no matter the consequences.

"Come here," he murmured, as he stood up and helped Hermione to her feet. He wrapped her in a gentle embrace, so that she could bury her face into his shoulder. The show of compassion caused the last crack in the dam, and the Head Girl sobbed uncontrollably for a good two minutes. Harry remained silent, allowing her to get the tears out of her system. He had no idea what to say anyway. Hermione had tightened the embrace, and Harry, despite his ethical misgivings, could not deny how good it felt.

The kitchen did not seem the best place to comfort a friend, so Harry wrapped his arm around Hermione and led her to the sitting room, where they sat next to each other on the sofa facing the fire place. Flicking his wand without a word, Harry started a fire, and the two friends sat a good while looking into the blue-yellow flames. The fire seemed to calm Hermione, and she felt embarrassed by her uncharacteristic show of emotion.

"I'm sorry about that, Harry. The last thing you need is an emotional female in your life. Please don't worry about me." She wiped her eyes with the back of her arm.

Harry shook his head, "Being friends means you worry about each other. Merlin knows you worry about me enough. I get to worry about you too, OK?"

She smiled at his light but meaningful comment, and agreed, "OK." Thank Merlin that Ron could not see them at that moment, Harry considered. Or Ginny for that matter. His left arm wrapped around Hermione's shoulder, as she leaned her head on his shoulder.

"If he was jealous before, . . ." Harry thought to himself. Hermione had stopped crying, but her eyes still glistened.

"You're a good friend, Harry. I don't know what I'd do without you," Hermione half spoke, half whispered in a hoarse voice. She turned her head to look at him, but Harry continued staring into the fire. After studying the young man for several moments, she asked, "Why do you think we never, you know, . . . . I mean everyone seems to think that we are. Rita Skeeter, Victor Krum, Cho. The girls in the dormitory always bug me about it. And of course the Prophet's 'The Chosen One's Chosen One.' Most of the magical world thinks I'm your girlfriend."

"Does that bother you?"

"Not really. Maybe a little, but only because I don't like my privacy invaded." Hermione considered, returning her gaze to the hypnotic fire, "I don't care if they think we're together. Can't really blame them for thinking that, since we are such close friends and spend so much time together."

"Maybe we're too close to be close in that way," Harry suggested as he also stared at the flames, "It would change everything."

"Could be," agreed Hermione, "but it seems a little strange, doesn't it. I mean we are such close friends, and we're a boy and a girl, and . . . . Well, it would seem normal that we would be more than friends."

"There's nothing normal about me," Harry answered, turning to look at her for the first time. She instinctively turned as well, and their eyes met for the first time. "For better or worse, I've never been normal, and nothing I do can be normal anymore. At least not until its all over. Maybe then, I can be normal, at least a little bit. If I'm alive."

"You'll be alive, Harry. I know it."

Harry could not respond to that piece of optimism, so instead he advised, "I don't think you should make any hasty decisions about Ron. He can be a git, I know, but he really likes you, and deep down he's a great person. Maybe he just needs some time to adjust." Harry felt a certain obligation to defend his best friend.

"I know he's a good person, but why is he so jealous?! And why do we have to argue about everything?" Hermione shifted her position slightly at the irritation she felt every time she thought about it. "These last couple of days, we've either been snogging or arguing. I'm sick of it!"

"Well, I wish I could give you some better advice, Hermione. I feel like I'm in the middle. Maybe it will be better after it's all over. You won't have to be around me so much. There will be more time for yourselves, you know, without me being in the middle."

If Harry thought he said the right thing, he soon learned his mistake. His well-meant comment instead reminded Hermione that the day approached, much too quickly, when they would no longer be schoolmates, no longer spend hours of each day together, go their separate ways. Tears leaked from her eyes, and she instinctively reached out to her friend, who welcomed her into his arms again.

"Don't say that, Harry! I don't ever want that time to come. I don't ever want you not to be around." Her sobs prevented additional words, until finally she struggled to say, "Don't ever leave me, Harry. Always be close by."

Realizing that he had said the wrong thing, Harry held his friend again, softly assuring her, "I'm not going anywhere, Hermione. We'll always be close, no matter what happens." He wondered whether in fact this would be true. So many variables existed, most prominently his likely death. Even if he somehow survived, however, he knew that their paths may diverge, intentionally or not. He thought of Remus, who no longer had any of his friends from Hogwarts. Would that happen to them too?

They remained silent for some minutes, Hermione wrapped in Harry's arms, both gazing into the flames of the fireplace. Harry knew that Hermione, after settling her emotions, started thinking intensely, for he knew that look well. Finally, she separated herself from Harry's arm, which did not disappoint him too much, as it had started to fall asleep. She turned her body towards him and looked right into his green eyes.

"Thank you for being here, Harry. I feel a little better now, but I'm sorry to dump my problems on you. Anyway, I think Ginny is the right girl for you, after it's all over. I'm sure the two of you will get back together."

Harry stared back at Hermione, and then thought about Ginny. These were the two women in his life. Looking at Hermione, he realized that she had become a pretty young woman, despite her plain attire; perhaps not a "Witch's Weekly" model, but beautiful nonetheless. The same, of course, could be said for Ginny. Would he return to Ginny? Could Hermione and he maybe become more than friends? He truly did not know. That aspect of his life seemed so far off in an uncertain future, that he found it impossible to consider.

Finally he responded to Hermione's comment, "I'm not sure if we will. I'm really not. But I just can't worry about that now. One thing I can tell you though. I'll be the happiest man in the world if I'm alive to face those problems."

Never had Harry and Hermione had so much physical contact with each other for such an extended period of time. That afternoon, they stayed apart, realizing that they could not make a habit of it. They conversed, read, ate lunch and dinner, without ever touching each other. Somehow, they both felt that their friendship had been altered by the events of the morning. Something had happened. A sexual tension emerged between them that had not existed before. Both wanted the Weasleys to return as soon as possible to break the heavy mood.

After dinner, Harry excused himself to take a shower and to shave. He normally did not perform these acts so early in the evening, but being around Hermione had become so uncomfortable, that he had to do something to have some time away from her. Leisurely enjoying his shower, he did not leave his room for a good hour and a half, by which time the Weasleys had returned. Hearing their voices in the kitchen, Harry headed down the hall, but stopped in his tracks outside Hermione's room. Raised voices could be heard through the door.

"I don't believe it!" Ron complained disbelievingly, "We've just been together a couple of weeks. Give it a chance."

"We made a mistake, Ron," Hermione responded firmly, "I like you a lot, but we should not have done it. Now is not the right time. There's too much for us to do. Harry needs us, and he needs us at our best. I haven't been able to concentrate lately. All our arguments - they just take too much out of me."

"Oh, I see!" Ron almost yelled, and in Harry's mind's eye he could see his mate's face reddening, "This is all about Harry, isn't it? Harry this, and Harry that. Did you have a nice day with Harry today? Should I leave the house all day tomorrow too?"

"As a matter of fact, I DID have a nice day with your BEST FRIEND," Hermione shouted, "because he's not the BIGGEST GIT I'VE KNOWN IN MY ENTIRE LIFE."

By this time, Ginny had climbed the stairs and stood next to Harry. The two made eye contact but said nothing. _We should not listen_, Harry thought, but his feet remained nailed to the floor. Ginny heard Hermione's shouting and knew something big was happening.

Ron continued the yelling, "Yeah, I bet you had a GREAT time with my BEST FRIEND today, just like you did last night putting on that makeup. What did you put on him today? BODY LOTION?"

"No, Ron. Do you know what I put on him? MY PROBLEMS. And you know what he did? He SHOWED SOME COMPASSION. He LISTENED TO ME. Have you ever done any of those things?"

Upon hearing this, Ginny looked up at Harry with an inquisitive look, which Harry did his best to ignore.

"If Harry is so great, then why did you get together with me anyway," Ron asked in a pained lower voice, chastened by Hermione's comment.

"Because I like you, Ron. I like Harry, too. You two are my best friends. I'm a strange girl; both of my best friends are boys. Why are you so jealous of Harry? Just because we were together doesn't mean that I have to dump him as a friend. You know I could never do that."

"I never wanted you to dump him, but you know it's hard for a boy to see his girlfriend touching another boy like you did with Harry. It just seems to me that the two of you may want to be more than friends."

A silence followed, and Harry wondered what expression Hermione's face displayed in reaction to that comment. His former girlfriend looked back and forth between the door and Harry, gradually understanding the drama. _We should leave,_ he told himself, but his feet still would not move.

Hermione responded in a low voice that Harry and Ginny could barely hear, "This is why we can't be together anymore, Ron. I just can't take these arguments. And we have so much to do with Harry still. He's found out something else and needs to talk to us. I don't want to fight anymore. It's taking too much out of me." She sounded exhausted.

After another pause, Ron finally conceded, "OK, Hermione. I know I'm a git, and I know that Harry has to come first now. Just know that I still like you a lot, no matter what stupid things I say. Maybe after Harry finally kills him . . . "

Ginny's eyes jerked at these last words, and Harry cringed. He should have made her move, but he could not help listening in on his friends breaking up. Ginny opened her mouth, but Harry put a finger to his lips, then pointed back to his room.

"You have to kill him?" Ginny asked accusingly the moment the door closed, "You never said you had to kill him."

"Of course I didn't tell you, Ginny. It's supposed to be a secret. You must promise never to tell anyone." Harry paced his room rapidly, greatly irritated by the unplanned disclosure of secret information. "Besides, I told you a bunch of times that what I have to do will be extremely dangerous and that I would probably die. Couldn't you put two and two together? Didn't you believe me?"

"I didn't put anything together because you wouldn't tell me anything," the red head retorted, equally irritated. "You wouldn't let me help. How was I supposed to know that you have to kill him? Why you? Let someone else kill him. You are a seventeen year old boy. Why should you be killing You Know Who? That makes no sense."

Harry looked at his former girlfriend sadly, and did not know what to tell her now.

"It has to be me, Ginny. There's, . . ., there's a prophecy. I'm the one." Ginny stared at him disbelievingly, and then looked down at the carpet in contemplation.

"But the prophecy broke. That's the one you're talking about, right? It broke at the Ministry before anyone heard it. You can't know what it said."

"It did break, but I know what it says. Dumbledore knew it, and he told me. It has to be me. Either I kill Voldemort, or he kills me." Harry cringed while saying this, for he truly did not want Ginny to know what he must do.

Ginny stared at him, not knowing what to say. A wave of fear passed through her. Harry really would die. Yes, he had told her that before, but she did not truly believe it. Whatever he had to do would be dangerous, she knew, but in the end he would come out of it in one piece. But to have to kill the dark lord? Or to be killed by him? Harry had been telling the truth; he was going to be killed.

"It's just a prophecy, Harry. They aren't infallible; we learned that in Divination. Ignore it! Let someone else kill him. It doesn't have to be you." Harry shook his head.

"It's me, Ginny. Too much has happened. This prophecy is real. It's me." They stared into each other's eyes, Ginny's full of fear, Harry's calm and accepting. This was old news to him.

"I guess I should have put two and two together, like you said, but I didn't. How are you going to kill him? You're a powerful wizard, we all know that, but this is You Know Who!"

"The Prophecy says I can do it. I have the power to do it, but it doesn't mean that I will succeed. It only means that I have a chance. Nobody else can do it. I'll either kill Voldemort, or I'll die trying."

As the full realization of their conversation sunk in, Ginny stepped towards Harry and hugged him for the first time in months. It felt so good to Harry, who had missed their closeness of the past. They held each other tightly, but soon Harry realized that for the second time that day, he embraced a weeping girl, and he gently stroked her back to comfort her.

At that moment, Hermione knocked on the door, and after waiting a moment entered, as she normally did unless Harry told her not to, if he was dressing. She herself appeared to be on the verge of tears but displayed her surprise at the sight of Ginny and Harry embracing. In a moment, she heard Ginny's sobs. Harry made eye contact with Hermione and with his head motioned for her to come in.

"What's happened?" she asked gently.

Not until then did Ginny realize that Hermione had entered, and she self-consciously released Harry and sat down on his bed, slumping forward.

"Ginny overheard Ron and you say that I have to kill Voldemort. I just told her about the prophecy."

Hermione immediately rushed towards the bed to comfort her friend, and the two most important women in Harry's life held each other closely. In a moment, Ginny's tears infected the already emotional Hermione, and she also started to cry, both from her break-up with Ron and from Ginny's anguish. Harry had no idea what to do, so he did nothing, but in the back of his mind, he told himself that he had had it up to his neck with crying females.

After they had calmed themselves a minute or two later, both of the girls directed their moist eyes at Harry, who remained standing uncomfortably. None of them could think of anything to say.

Finally, Hermione looked at Ginny, and with resolve in her voice declared, "Harry's going to do it, Ginny. He's going to kill Voldemort. He's already done a lot. We're almost there. Don't give up on him!"

"Let me help, Harry," Ginny implored, "I can't let you go without trying to help you. This is my fight too. He's taken my home. He's taken my school. He almost took my brother. I have the right to fight too! Please let me help."

Her beautiful brown eyes glistened from her tears as she made her impassioned plea. Hermione's moist eyes also looked up at him, supporting Ginny's request. Perhaps Harry could have resisted one of them, but the two together proved too much.

"OK," he sighed, "You can help." He regretted saying the words as soon as they left his mouth.


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

Only I Can Do Something

Arthur Weasley nodded his head in response to Harry's question. He had entered Malfoy Manor a number of times in his official capacity conducting searches for illegal dark artifacts. Several such items had been confiscated over the years until Lucius Malfoy moved them elsewhere, or hid them more carefully. Mr. Weasley did in fact recall the Hogwarts medal, framed and mounted on the library wall of the mansion.

Harry did not found it easy to corner Arthur to discuss the matter. The older wizard previously spent most of his time in Harry's house after the abandonment of Hogwarts and the Burrow, during the time that Harry spent with Professor Dumbledore. Now that Harry returned to Grimmauld Place, he rarely saw Mr. Weasley, who since the fall of the Ministry worked full-time for the Order of the Phoenix, spending countless hours recruiting new members and organizing the opposition force. Finally Harry managed to ask his question after breakfast, in the few minutes before Arthur planned to return to the new headquarters of the Order. Since other residents of the house occupied the kitchen and sitting room, they ducked into the library. Arthur held his robe over his left arm, dressed in casual slacks and a blue shirt, not the more formal clothing of his old job. Harry wore his favorite fading black t-shirt.

"It was not there the last time we searched it, Harry; that's why I remember it. We kept a list from our previous raids, and on our last search after you told me about Draco, we compared the list to the current contents of the house. Narcissa Malfoy must have been told to relocate most of the more questionable objects. We were a bit surprised that the medal had been moved, as it was not an item under suspicion. I have no idea where it is now."

Harry's heart sunk into his stomach. After Dobby's information, he felt certain that the horcrux remained in the Malfoy library, and they simply needed to develop a plan to steal it. Now he fell back to ground zero.

"The medal could be anywhere, Harry," Arthur advised matter-of-factly, slipping his robe over his arms. "We received reports that the Malfoy's economic situation deteriorated, especially after Lucius was sent to Azkaban. Narcissa sold a number of artifacts from the Manor on the black market to raise cash. Is this medal important, Harry?"

"I'm afraid it is, Mr. Weasley. This is terrible news. We really need to find it."

With this disappointing development, after lunch Harry met in his bedroom with Ron and Hermione, and now joining them, Ginny. Ron glared at Harry, as Hermione had just curtly informed Ron that Ginny would join their effort.

Ron did not mince his words when Harry arrived. "Ginny should not be here, Harry! I was never consulted, and I do not agree. It's too dangerous, and she's not of age yet." He stood up when Harry entered, and the two best mates stood face to face, just a few feet apart.

"It's too late now," Hermione argued harshly, also abandoning her spot on the bed, "Harry already said that she can help, so I told her everything. She knows about the horcruxes, about the prophecy, about everything we've done." She stared at Harry, refusing to make eye contact with Ron.

"WHY DID YOU DO THAT," Ron shouted, still hurting from the previous evening's break-up with Hermione. He was in a supremely bad mood.

"IT'S NOT YOUR DECISION TO MAKE, RON," Ginny shouted back, "and even if I'm not of age, I can still help." She already stood by the head of Harry's bed, but took a step towards the others, venom in her eyes.

The two siblings glared at each other, as Ron retorted, "IT'S TOO DANGEROUS, HARRY. SHE'S TOO YOUNG."

"SHE'S ONLY A YEAR YOUNGER THAN WE ARE. WE DID LOTS OF DANGEROUS THINGS AT THAT AGE," Hermione yelled back, her face reddening.

Ron's face grew redder still, and he opened his mouth to yell something back when Harry finally beat him to the punch.

"SHUT UP, ALL OF YOU!" His three friends, who had been shouting at full volume, appeared shocked that Harry raised his voice. Lowering it to a near normal level, he angrily ordered, "Sit down!" Ron returned to his chair, still irate, while the two witches sat next to each other on the bed. They both dressed rather nicely, Hermione in a sleeveless blue blouse, Ginny in a tighter red top. Both wore tight blue jeans. Harry did not notice either of their attire.

Ginny rarely saw this side of Harry, and she twitched from her rage at Ron and this unknown aspect of Harry's personality. Harry remained silent for nearly half a minute, staring at his friends, allowing their blood pressure to return somewhere near normal. Finally he turned towards his best mate, speaking in a soft but irritated voice.

"I don't like it either, Ron, and I wish I hadn't changed my mind. It was a stupid act of weakness," Harry explained through gritted teeth, chastising himself, "but what's done is done. Ginny knows everything now. She's with us, so we have to deal with it." He glared at Ron, who continued to fume but did not respond.

Turning his glare to Ginny, Harry cautioned, "This is a decision that I hope I do not live to regret. But if you are going to be in on this, you must promise to do exactly what we instruct you to do. I am not a quidditch captain, whose orders you can ignore. This is life and death now, understand?"

The young witch did not expect such a harsh greeting from Harry, whom she still considered to be her boyfriend on a temporary hiatus. She meekly nodded her understanding, afraid to speak a word. The three agitated soldiers looked expectantly at their equally agitated general.

Harry's expression slowly softened, as he summarized, "There is another horcrux. We know what it is, but we don't know where it is. That's what it boils down to." Harry gave the three a highly abridged version of the events of two evenings previous, as he felt in no mood to delve into extraneous details. He made no mention of vampires or The Blood Pub, just that they determined the nature of the final horcrux, that for a time it hung in the library at Malfoy Manor, but that its current location was unknown.

"This is terrible," the still irritated Ron complained when Harry finished, "How are we ever going to find a Hogwarts medal. I know what you're talking about, because my great aunt has one. They gave a bunch of those medals out for years and years. Hundreds must exist. Maybe thousands."

Unfortunately, Ron hit the nail on the head, and though the four discussed various ideas, the fact of the matter remained that the medal could be anywhere. Finally Harry threw himself on his bed in exasperation, Ginny and Hermione moving aside to make room.

"The most likely place is still Malfoy Manor," he concluded, "Your dad only knows that it no longer hung on the library wall. That doesn't mean that it isn't somewhere else in the house. Still the chances of it being there are low; I hate to run the risk of trying to break in. Even if we get by the wards, it's a huge place from what I understand. It could take days to search properly." The four friends sat in depressed silence.

Ginny's presence had been disconcerting to the original three, even Hermione, and they found it difficult to speak as openly as before. Combined with the tensions between Ron and Hermione, both of whom went out of their way not to look at each other the whole time, Harry considered the entire day to be a complete disaster.

"What are we going to do?" Ginny asked, not truly expecting an answer.

"Unfortunately, I only see one thing we can do," Harry muttered from his bed, "We have to capture Narcissa Malfoy."

The others stared at him wide-eyed, not wanting to accept what he just said, but they recognized Harry's point. Only Mrs. Malfoy would have knowledge of the location of the medal, but the task would be daunting. No doubt, she currently resided in a well protected place, and her capture would be more difficult than Snape's had been.

"How are we going to find her?" Hermione asked softly, trying her best to remain focused, "She's probably in hiding, or else holing up with Voldemort."

Harry already knew this, but he did not like to admit that this may be a matter beyond their capabilities. His mind worked furiously, but the conclusion remained clear. They needed help.

"I think it may be time to talk to Remus," he conceded, "Maybe the Order can help us this time."

Remus Lupin and Kingsley Shackelbolt listened intently to Harry's request, seated at the kitchen table with Ron and Hermione. Ginny reluctantly accepted the decision that she not be present, as they did not want the others to know that she had joined their group, partly to placate Ron but primarily due to the fear that Molly would blow her top.

"You know what you are asking could be extremely dangerous," Kingsley admonished the teens, "There could be losses. Is this absolutely necessary."

"I'm afraid so," Hermione replied with all the confidence she could muster, "We have tried to think of alternatives, but there are none. Mrs. Malfoy is the only person to have the information that we need."

Harry continued, "We're very close to the end. There is one last hurdle, and Mrs. Malfoy is the key." He directed his eyes at Lupin, his long hair more grey than ever. "Remus, at the Burrow last summer, you told us not to be afraid to use the Order if we needed it. Well, we need you now. We have no way of locating her. She wouldn't respond to anything we'd send her, so we can't set up a trap. We know you have spies and informants. Do you think you can help us?"

As an afterthought, Ron added, "If you can't, we're stuck. It could be months or years before we find what we need. The only quick way is to get Mrs. Malfoy." Ron sat to Harry's right, Hermione to his left, using Harry as a buffer.

Remus eyed them thoughtfully, then looked to Kingsley. Harry noted that the dark and bald Shacklebolt had not changed a bit since their last meeting except that his eyes contained even greater determination. Remus too seemed to have an air about him that did not exist before. Perhaps the Order of the Phoenix had some life after all.

"We'd like to get to Narcissa anyway, we've already spoken about it. Especially if the news about Draco is true," Remus mentioned quietly to his fellow soldier.

"It's true," interjected Harry.

"What's true?" Kingsley asked suspiciously, "What do you know?"

"Draco is dead. I killed him." His face did not change expression.

Silence filled the kitchen, until Hermione clarified, "It was an accident. Harry didn't do it on purpose, but we're almost sure he died." The two men stared uncertainly at Harry before returning to their dialogue.

"That fits our information," Remus quietly remarked to Kingsley, "Narcissa will be devastated. She could be susceptible." The co-leaders of the Order of the Phoenix obviously knew of what they spoke, but the three teens did not ask for any further explanation. The rules of the game remained the same. They would leave the Order to its business, and the Order would do the same for them.

"OK, we'll see what we can find out. We have a vague idea where Narcissa may be, but we'll have to follow up. It hasn't been one of our priorities lately, but we'll make it one," Kingsley decided, a brief nod from Remus indicating his agreement.

Over the next days, Harry suffered. No news of Mrs. Malfoy arrived, and he passed the time bored and antsy. Ron and Hermione no longer argued with each other, but they barely spoke to each other either. Hermione and Ginny spent much of their time holed up in their room talking about Merlin knows what.

That left Harry with Ron, whose depression following the break-up neared pathological levels. Harry provided Ron with a couple of opportunities to get his emotions off of his chest, but Ron for reasons only known to him refused. In the end, Harry did not care, and felt he gave his friend the chance. He had no intention to do anything more than that. Though Ron did not seem exactly angry with Harry, he did not make an especially enjoyable companion either. From time to time, Harry retreated to the peace of his bedroom to be alone.

The events of the previous days bothered him intensely: the ill feelings between his friends, the questionable addition of Ginny, and especially the news that the location of the horcrux was unknown. He felt ready to move, but he had no where to go. They spent a small part of their days following their meeting with the Order making what plans they could, but it all seemed an exercise in futility.

While in his room, he often passed the time conversing with Issamir, who remained in the house with Harry, though Harry offered to take it anywhere it wanted to go. Issamir became his friend. First a house elf and now a snake.

"What next," Harry thought, "a penguin?"

"You are unsettled, Harry Potter. Your mind is not at peace," Issamir hissed.

"There are many things I must do, but I am unable to do them until a certain person is found. People are looking for this person, but they are unable to find her. I am frustrated."

"If you wish, I will allow you to possess me again. In my form, we can enter any building, for the measures wizards use to protect their homes do not affect serpents."

Harry stared at his serpent friend with a startled look of realization.

"That is an excellent idea, Issamir. Why did I not think of it before?"

The serpent's offer set Harry to thinking. Maybe they had been too restrictive in their thinking. Who would think to use a snake to gather information? What about house elves? Dobby already advanced their cause a number of times. It was he who acquired the veritaserum used against Snape, and to be used against Mrs. Malfoy if she could be captured. Dobby found Lefty, which led to the meeting with Amelda Barlow, which led to the destruction of Slytherin's locket. If Dobby could find Lefty, Harry surmised, surely he would be able to find Narcissa Malfoy's house elves, some of whom he must have worked with in the past.

"Why am I so stupid?" Harry chastised himself, before crying out, "Dobby."

"Yes, Harry Potter," cried the house elf with delight.

"Remember when I asked you about Malfoy Manor?"

"Of course, Harry Potter, Dobby was not able to help."

"Yes you did, Dobby, but I have another question now. You still know some of Mrs. Malfoy's house elves, right?"

"Dobby knows several of old Master's house elves. Dobby believes that at least three of them are still slaves of the bad masters." Now for the big question.

"Are you able to find those house elves, Dobby? I mean, even if they are not at Malfoy Manor, can you find them?"

The house elf thought for a few moments, and said, "Dobby knows how to find them. It may take Dobby two or three days, but Dobby is sure he can find them."

"How?"

"A house elf's mother or father can always find the house elf. It is part of our magic. Dobby cannot find the Malfoy's house elves, but Dobby knows the mother of one of the house elves. Dobby believes that Dobby can find the mother, and then he can find Dotty, the Malfoy's house elf. Dotty will help Dobby."

"That's fantastic, Dobby," Harry replied with a grin, "I want you to start on this right away." The house elf's happy expression dropped, and Harry thought that he had said something to hurt Dobby's feelings. "Is something wrong, Dobby?"

"Nothing is wrong, Harry Potter, but Dobby is in the middle of preparing dinner, and if Dobby must leave right now, then Dobby cannot finish the dinner." Harry laughed.

"Please finish dinner first, Dobby, thank you very much. After dinner, whenever you are ready, you can try to find Dotty. Is that OK with you?"

Dobby's feet shuffled with excitement, "Yes, yes, Harry Potter. Harry Potter is a great wizard." And with that Dobby vanished.

"Please find Dotty," Harry muttered, "before I go mad."

Hermione and Ginny giggled happily. They already changed the color of Harry's hair to a light brown, and were now in the process of applying the thick layer of make-up required to conceal Harry's scar. A couple of weeks earlier, Harry might have found this amusing, but he had been on edge as November turned to December. Dobby unfortunately encountered more trouble than he thought finding Dotty's mother, and the Order had not located Narcissa Malfoy either. A month had passed since Hogwarts had closed, and except for regular visits to Professor Dumbledore, Harry hardly left Grimmauld Place.

The tension among his friends hardly eased. Ron and Hermione tried their best to act civilly to each other, which generally meant that they ignored each other. Ginny now participated in all their discussions, such as they were, which usually devolved into bitter arguments between her brother and her. Hermione did not feel she should intervene, given her difficult relations with Ron, so Harry often ended up in the role of referee. The tension among the four had never been worse.

Finally, Harry decided that a day of recreation was the medicine. Ginny and Ron had never visited a muggle zoo, and Harry only once, the day he released the snake that ruined Dudley's birthday. When Harry informed the others of the planned trip to the zoo, at first they thought he was being sarcastic. When finally he convinced them that he in fact wanted to go, the girls gleefully squealed, and even Ron felt happy for the opportunity to escape the drab confines of No. 17 Grimmauld Place.

For safety's sake, they decided that their appearances needed to be altered, even though they would be in an entirely muggle area. Ginny's hair, at her request, changed to a platinum blond, while Hermione's turned jet black, lengthened to reach down to the middle of her back. Ron elected blond as well, though not as light as Ginny's. Once the girls covered Harry's scar, they could leave. Ginny and Hermione took turns applying the foundation, each managing to caress Harry's face repeatedly in the process. Eventually, they realized that Harry was not amused, and their giggling subsided as they quickly finished the job.

A thin layer of snow covered the ground, but otherwise they chose a beautiful cold, sunny day in London. The foursome dressed warmly in thick jackets and scarves before apparating to Kings Crossing, Hermione side-along apparating Ginny. A taxi-ride later, they entered the zoo. The pure-bloods could hardly contain their excitement, both for being outside for a change, and for visiting such a typically muggle attraction. The cold clean air roused Harry's spirits as well, seemingly awakening him from a long sleep. He ambled about the zoo with his friends, laughing along with them at times, thinking deeply at others.

Yet no matter where he went, he could not escape the effects of his enemy. He noted the sparse attendance at the zoo, as at all such attractions throughout Britain. Terrorism reached a new high, according to the muggle papers. Worse yet, many of the deaths had no obvious cause, and no organization claimed responsibility for the attacks, or for the bridges destroyed mysteriously, or for the rash of aviation disasters the like never seen before. All airports in the islands had been closed pending a full investigation, which promised to take months to complete. Few ventured out of their homes except for the bare necessities - jobs, food, and the like. Restaurants suffered and amusement parks closed almost daily. The four did not understand their good fortune that the zoo opened at all.

"The muggles are suffering too," Harry told himself, "They're depending on me as well, even if they don't know it. And what am I doing? Visiting a zoo!" Yet think as he might, the four could do nothing more until the final horcrux could be located and destroyed. They had to find Narcissa Malfoy!

At midday, Harry purchased lunch for the four patrons at one of the few eateries opened in the zoo, given the low attendance. They happily sat down inside, taking off their bulky coats and scarves, and eating some "real" muggle food. Hermione and Ginny took turns glancing at each other throughout the day, noticing Harry's reserve. Finally Hermione broached the subject.

"You've been awfully quiet today, Harry. What have you been thinking about?"

"What do you thing I've been thinking about? What do I always think about?" He responded abruptly but without malice. He did not bother to expound.

"We came here to forget about that," Ginny replied, "even if just for a few hours."

"I didn't," Harry disagreed, "I just had to get out of that house. Don't think that I'm not enjoying myself, because I am. But it's all around us. Nobody is here. Everyone is afraid, wizard and muggle. It all comes down to us. To me."

Harry said this more in a reflective tone than out of depression. He in essence opened an impromptu meeting. He quickly performed the muffliato spell to prevent being overheard, though only two other patrons sat in the small restaurant.

"I've just been thinking about our options today. We've been waiting on Mrs. Malfoy for days now. Actually more than a week. Maybe we need to expand what we're doing. Maybe we are focused too narrowly attacking the horcrux issue."

Obviously, Harry had something in mind, and the other three glanced at each other, almost afraid to ask. No doubt it would be risky and dangerous.

Delicately, Hermione responded, "We'd like to know what you're thinking, Harry, but the horcrux has to be the most important thing. Anything we do can't harm that effort."

"What effort?" Harry retorted in exasperation, "We're doing nothing right now. Voldemort has the run of the country. The Ministry doesn't exist. The muggle government doesn't have any idea of what is going on. The Order of the Phoenix is just a mosquito to Voldemort right now. It can't really do anything." Harry paused, noting the long faces of his friends. He had thrown cold water on them, but he did not care. Instead he went one step further.

"Only I can do something." He locked eyes with Hermione.

"What can you do until the horcrux is found?" Ron asked quietly, "You can't try to kill Vol . . . Voldemort yet." Harry heard Ron's statement, but still he looked at Hermione, whom he knew would understand what he meant to do.

"It could backfire, Harry," the girl with the long, straight black hair cautioned. Though her hair looked different, the eyes remained the same, and Harry knew them well.

"I'm ready now."

"What do you think you'll accomplish?"

Harry thought for a moment before asserting, "I'll show him that I can reach him, that he's no longer in control. He'll have to worry about me all the time." Pausing again for a moment, he concluded, "I'll show him that I'm as powerful as he is."

"But are you?" The two stared intensely into each other's eyes.

"I am."

Ginny's eyes gradually widened during this conversation which she did not understand. She gasped at Harry's final assertion. Could he truly be stronger than Lord Voldemort? The idea seemed ludicrous. She needed an explanation of what had just been said, but being the lowest ranked soldier in Harry's small army, she remained silent.

Ron gradually understood; "If you think you can do it, Harry, then do it! But you have to be sure."

"I can defend myself now. And I think I can cause him some pain I want him to start worrying about me. Not because of some prophecy. But because he knows that I'm a real threat. Am I overestimating myself? I don't think so."

His friends did not know that Harry's comments had been on his mind for days. In his most recent visits with Dumbledore, they discussed the idea for hours. Harry had promised the headmaster that he would not seek to enter Voldemort's mind without Dumbledore's blessing. Dumbledore agreed not to withhold his blessing unreasonably. He tested Harry's skills relentlessly, and Harry blocked him each and every time. His Occlumancy had become excellent, and he could erect the ice wall in his mind almost instantaneously. Dumbledore gave Harry his blessing. Reluctantly.

Hermione's mind processed the situation quickly. She no longer doubted Harry's abilities, but she wondered whether attacking Voldemort's mind would really do any good. Nevertheless, Harry had made up his mind; that much she could see. Better to support him than to attempt to talk him out of it.

"OK, Harry. I agree, as long as you think you can accomplish something useful."

A wave of relief passed through Harry's body. Without realizing it, he needed Hermione's support. He knew that entering Voldemort's mind would be difficult and risky, and for some reason having the support of his friends made the whole idea more plausible. He smiled and decided the meeting had ended.

"Let's take a look at the snakes."

As they dressed themselves anew with their winter clothing, Harry heard Ginny softly ask Hermione, "What was that all about?"

While putting on her mittens, Hermione turned to stare at Harry and then quietly answered, "I'll tell you later."

Opposite from the morning, Harry appeared to be in an excellent mood during the afternoon while his three companions acted less exuberantly. He entertained them speaking with the snakes, and the four Gryffindors admired the African lions. Ginny stole looks at Harry whenever she could without being overly obvious. For months she felt left out, but now that she fought her way into the group, she had second thoughts. Be careful what you ask for; you just might get it. Ron, Hermione and Harry seemed so different now - tougher, focused, risk-taking. When Hermione informed her of all they had done, Ginny held the three of them in awe. Capturing Professor Snape, destroying the three horcruxes, killing Voldemort's snake, killing Draco Malfoy. So much to absorb, yet Hermione informed her of it all rather matter-of-factly. Ginny thought herself a capable witch. After all, she accompanied them to the Ministry in her fourth year, but that was child's play compared to what they had done since Dumbledore's funeral.

"Just don't let me blow it," she kept repeating to herself. She could not back out now.

The four friends returned to the warmth of Harry's house, returned to their natural appearances, and sat themselves in the sitting room in front of a roaring fire. Mrs. Weasley busied herself in the kitchen, as she took care of the cooking during Dobby's absence. Harry and the others sat comfortably, having enjoyed their brief escape from Grimmauld Place. The tension of recent days receded some, though it remained just under the surface. At least for the time being, everyone appeared to be content. Harry turned to look at the fire.

At that moment, a snow covered Dobby appeared before Harry with a pop.

"Harry Potter, Harry Potter," he cried, full of excitement, "Dobby has found Dotty. Dobby knows where bad master is living."

A thin smile crept across Harry's face.


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Time That We Should Chat

"I agree you can get in, Harry, but how are you going to get her out of there? This is more than a one-man job." Hermione's face flushed as her argument with Harry continued, her bushy hair starting to escape their bindings.

The two friends verbally battled back and forth for half an hour, with Ron and Ginny looking on mostly as bystanders, Ron squeezing in a thought when given the chance.

"The Order can not possibly put together a force to attack it," Harry argued for the tenth time, "The castle is far too well protected. We'd be sending them to their deaths. I'm not going to be responsible for that!" He set his jaw.

"But what's the point of getting in there if you can't get her out?" Hermione retorted reasonably, "I know the Order can't make a head-on attack, but maybe it can devise a plan to sneak in and sneak out." As much as Harry hated to admit it, Hermione had a point.

"OK, let's go over the whole thing again. Maybe we're missing something. Dobby!" The house elf appeared almost before Harry finished saying his name.

"Dobby, I'm sorry to bring you back again. We're having trouble deciding what to do. Can we go over what you learned again?" If Dobby felt reluctant to tell his story a fourth time, he did not show it.

"Of course, Harry Potter."

"Tell us if we're missing anything. You determined that Dotty is at McNaughton Castle in Scotland, and that Dotty's mother was able to visit her. She found out that the castle is headquarters for at least one hundred death eaters and other creatures. Dotty told her there were trolls and dementors for sure, but probably other creatures as well. Mrs. Malfoy is there but is in terrible shape, mourning the death of Draco. Lucius Malfoy is also there, at least part of the time, having been freed from Azkaban. Right so far?"

Dobby nodded, "Yes, Harry Potter, and Dotty says bad master is very upset."

"Now Dotty thinks that there are wards on the castle to prevent apparation, just like Hogwarts, but she's not sure. She can apparate if her master is there, but she's a house elf, and the wards wouldn't affect her. All we know is that she's never seen a wizard or witch apparate." Dobby nodded again at Harry's synopsis. Harry paced the room anxiously while he spoke.

"Dotty does not like McNaughton Castle," Dobby added, "Too much dark magic. Too ugly."

"Now, we know I can get into the castle by possessing Issamir again. He's already agreed to do it. I know from experience that Issamir is extremely stealthy. We'll be able to find Mrs. Malfoy, I know it. The problem again is what should I do when I find her."

The four stared at each other in silence until Ginny, of all people, broke it, "Why don't you just interrogate her right there. Take the veritaserum with you. Then when you're done, modify her memory, and get out of there." She sat on Harry's bed, her back leaning against the wall and her legs pulled underneath her.

In the days since her admittance to the group, the tension among the four slightly decreased. Ron and Hermione's relationship progressed to the point that they would speak with each other, though Harry and Ginny could easily detect the ill feelings between them. Ginny carefully avoided speaking too much during their discussions, but gradually her comfort level increased to the point where she offered comments from time to time. Harry seemed half oblivious to such unimportant interpersonal relationships, his mind focused entirely on what lay ahead.

At first blush, Ginny's idea seemed to be the solution, but as they parsed it further, problems arose. Would Harry have enough time to question her? Would he find her alone? What about Lucius? What if a house elf sees him and informs someone? Moreover, they would like to be able to deliver Narcissa to the Order, as she would have a tremendous amount of valuable information. They set aside Ginny's idea as a possibility, but there had to be a better option.

And so it went for hours, until at last past midnight, they departed for their rooms. Harry prepared himself for bed, completely frustrated. He ached to take action, any action. Laying his head on the pillow, Harry began his nightly ritual of clearing his mind and erecting his mental ice wall, when he abruptly stopped. No time like the present, he decided, and he pulled himself up, resting his back against the wall. Closing his eyes, he focused his energy on his scar, as he had done at least half a dozen times in dry runs. This time, however, he intended to launch the boat.

"Legilimens."

Harry initially desired that his first foray into Voldemort's mind be spectacular, causing as much pain and havoc as possible. Dumbledore, however, convinced Harry of the short-sightedness of that approach.

"Other than temporarily improving your spirits," he had argued, "the only effect will be to inform Voldemort of your ability to enter his mind. He will then take whatever steps are required to prevent such penetration in the future, and you will not have struck a lasting psychological blow. No, Harry, subtlety is the key, at least for now."

Feeling his mind link with the enemy's, Harry paused for a moment, breathing heavily. Apparently Voldemort did not yet feel his presence, and Harry saw flashes of light. He decided to remain still within the foreign mind. Gradually he could see and hear thoughts flash before him; scenes and noise that had no meaning to Harry. A death eater's mask, a door, a group of death eaters sitting together, cowering before him, a dead snake. Nagini! Though tempted to invade the mind at that point, he remained still.

Now he needed to put into practice the techniques taught to him by the professor. As softly as he could, Harry injected two words into Voldemort's mind: "Next attack." Dumbledore had emphasized that no more than one or two words should be used; otherwise, the invaded mind almost certainly will recognize the intrusion and take steps to block it. Harry breathed deeply and steadily to calm his nerves - another teaching of Professor Dumbledore.

Before him appeared the Tower Bridge in London, with the Tower of London in the background. Death eaters hid underneath the bridge, wands at the ready. Harry had to suppress a gasp as he realized Voldemort's next target, one of the great symbols of England. Harry injected one more word: "When?"

"Tomorrow morning." Not sure if he heard the words or felt them, Harry understood perfectly. The Tower Bridge, and who knows what more, would be destroyed the next morning.

Suddenly Harry felt Voldemort's mind stop. The enemy sensed something amiss, and as Dumbledore had advised, Harry broke the link immediately. In this way, Voldemort would not be sure whether his mind had been invaded or not.

"Uncertainty is a powerful weapon," rang Dumbledore's words inside of Harry's head.

Harry jumped from his bed, running right and left through halls to reach Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's bedroom. With no time for civilized niceties, he banged on their door three times, yelling, "Mr. Weasley." Then he opened the door to find a startled Arthur Weasley sliding clumsily from his bed.

"What . . . Harry, what's going on?"

"Come with me right away! It's urgent." Arthur needed to hear nothing more. Now wide awake, he grabbed a robe and his wand and rushed out with Harry, as Molly looked on nervously. The two wizards sped down the stairs to the sitting room.

"Mr. Weasley, I can't tell you how, but I found out Voldemort's next target. It's the Tower of London. And Tower Bridge. Tomorrow morning - actually this morning," Harry explained in a rush, "You've got to contact Remus and tell him to come here. There may still be time to put some Order members under the bridge. Maybe we can stop them."

Arthur opened his mouth to ask if Harry was completely sure, but he needed only to look at Harry's face. Swinging his wand, Mr. Weasley muttered some words and then waving his wand said, "Expecto Patronum," sending his message to Remus. A rather small, dull, ill-defined animal emerged from the wand, which to Harry appeared to be a camel or llama or some such creature. Despite the urgency of the moment, Harry could not avoid a certain shock that the patronus of an accomplished wizard such as Arthur Weasley was so, well, unimpressive. Harry's first patronuses back in third year exceeded Arthur's in quality and size.

As they had a few minutes to wait, Arthur glanced at Harry and noted the young man's surprised expression.

"I'm sure my patronus does not measure up to yours, Harry. I have heard stories of your stag." Arthur indicated that Harry should sit while they waited, and both men found a chair. "Do you realize how rare it is to produce a patronus like yours, Harry?"

"Not really," Harry responded, "I know that it's considered advanced magic and that some wizards can't produce a corporeal patronus, but I assume that most can with practice." Arthur chuckled nervously, anxiously waiting for Remus to arrive.

"There you are quite mistaken, Harry. A few years ago I read a study about patronuses, something to do with contingency plans if the dementors left Azkaban. They discovered that fully half of the wizarding population can produce no more than a grey wisp, which would provide no protection. About half of the rest can produce a decent silver cloud, which at least will detain a dementor and may allow a witch or wizard to flee. Only about one fourth of the population can produce a corporeal patronus of any kind. Did you know that there are five stages of patronuses?"

"No, I've never heard that."

"Mine is a stage three, and only ten to fifteen percent can produce a three or better. From what I hear, yours must be a one, the highest rating." Arthur stared seriously at the young man. "Less than one percent can produce a stage one, Harry."

Sometimes bits of information such as this can have a profound effect. Despite scores of instances where he had been told of his magical power, this statistical information shockingly proved to Harry that he truly was powerful. Extraordinarily powerful. In the top one percent of the population. He could think of nothing to say.

"I know you have been told many times, but you are an extremely powerful wizard, Harry. But power is not everything. Power can be combined with brilliance, stupidity, evil or good. Dumbledore always said it best, "It's . . ."

". . . our choices that make us," Harry finished.

"If you want, Harry, you can be as great as Dumbledore. You have what it takes, . . ., if you make the right choices." Harry looked down at his bare feet. A minute later, the fireplace crackled, and Remus stepped through the floo.

"Arthur, Harry," he greeted them perfunctorily, "What's the emergency?" Harry repeated his information.

The young man looked on with interest as the more experienced wizards immediately devised an operation to protect the Tower Bridge and the people on it. These two had done this before, Harry realized, too many times. In no more than five minutes, they completed their impromptu plan, and Arthur rushed up the stairs to his room to dress. Remus stood to leave, but turned towards Harry and considered his best friend's son.

"You're sure about this, right?" Harry gazed directly into the werewolf's eyes.

"I'm positive."

"Maybe this is the break we need," Remus mused hopefully, and stepped towards the floo. Harry wanted to ask to come along, but he refrained. He had done what he could do. Now it was a matter for the Order of the Phoenix.

"The Order will tend to its business, and I must tend to mine," he thought, as he slowly returned to his bedroom, "We have to find that medal." When he stretched out in his bed a few minutes later, now wide awake, Arthur's words echoed in his head: "You can be as great as Dumbledore."

**DEATH EATER PLOT FOILED**

**The Prophet has learned that an outrageous plot by followers of He Who Must Not Be Named was foiled by resistance forces. The forces of light disabled the death eaters at the Tower of London and Tower Bridge, and prevented destruction of these British icons. Resistance forces, who prefer to remain anonymous, killed two death eaters and captured at least five others. The thanks of all of Britain must be extended to these brave freedom fighters.**

Harry did not bother to read the rest of the article, as he already heard many of the details from Remus. Arthur and Remus returned almost giddy with excitement at the success of their hastily arranged operation, almost entirely due to the element of surprise. The Prophet actually understated the victory, as the Order captured eight death eaters and killed five. Interrogation of the prisoners had already begun at Order headquarters.

"We can't thank you enough, Harry," Arthur gushed again, taking another celebratory sip of Ogden's Firewhiskey, "Hopefully this will give people a bit of hope, even if it isn't much."

While pleased that the plot had been derailed, Harry hardly felt triumphant. At best, this could be considered a temporary victory, and no doubt Voldemort would react with a vengeance. In fact, for the first time in many months, Harry felt Voldemort's anger in his scar. But all of this constituted nothing more than a side show. A day after the attack, Harry visited Dumbledore.

"You did what you had to do, Harry, I certainly do not blame you. Destruction of the Tower of London and the Bridge would have been devastating both to the wizarding and muggle public. Nevertheless, it is unfortunate that Voldemort will now know that you invaded his mind." The elderly wizard clearly did not feel his best this day, more hunched over than just a few days before when Harry last visited.  
"How can we be sure? He could believe that the plot was given away by a traitor, or a prisoner," Harry responded, but deep down he knew the headmaster told the truth.

"Not impossible, I suppose, but do you really believe that?" Harry shook his head.

"Do you think I should keep doing it?" Harry inquired, "Invading his mind, I mean? I haven't done it since."

The old man still wore his nightclothes, and Harry thought he looked older and weaker than he had for some time. Fawkes perched on a chair in the apartment, and Winky performed various tasks. Though the professor did not feel well, he gave Harry's question his undivided attention.

"I believe you must. The battle has been joined, and you cannot now undo it. Yes, you must continue. Even though Voldemort now almost certainly knows of your intrusion into his mind, he will have been shaken by that fact. You must continue to erode his confidence, Harry, but you can be sure that he will counter. Yet as of now he has not, which leads me to believe that he is unsure of himself. You may have a slight advantage in this battle, Harry, and you must push ahead to exploit it." The young man smiled.

"That's what I wanted to hear, because I already decided to have another go at him tonight."

"McNaughton."

Harry injected one word into Lord Voldemort's mind just a few hours after leaving Professor Dumbledore's flat. After spending half an hour mulling over which word to use, Harry finally decided to see if he could learn something about the castle where Narcissa Malfoy, and at least one hundred death eaters, currently resided. He considered many other words as well, but something told him to trust his instincts.

An image of an enormous medieval structure immediately appeared before Harry, an older, less well maintained version of Hogwarts, set in a narrow valley in rugged Scottish hills. Just as Harry began to concentrate on the image, it vanished.

"I've been expecting you, Harry," sneered a cold, ruthless voice. By the sound of it, Lord Voldemort felt in no mood for games. "Again, I must congratulate you. My defenses were lax, and I allowed you to enter my mind unnoticed. Do not plan on further mistakes, Harry."

"It seemed time that we should chat, Tom," countered Harry as lightly as he could, "You have not been round to visit lately,"

"My activities are of no concern to you," the enemy hissed, "but your intrusion shall not go unpunished, Harry Potter. I believe I can find some time in my busy schedule to kill you. You have become a nuisance."

Harry felt his scar tingle with pain, and he knew that Voldemort initiated an attempt both to drive Harry out of his mind and to enter the young wizard's mind at the same time. He could feel the dark lord's outrage.

"STAY WHERE YOU'RE AT," Harry's mind yelled, and he decided that the time for subtlety had passed. He rushed into Voldemort's mind with all of his might, seeing images flash by him like fence posts on a highway, and hearing a cacophony of sound, none of it intelligible. His purpose now was not to learn but to attack - to cause pain. "HOW DOES IT FEEL, TOM," he thought as he released years of hatred and frustration in the attack. Excitement coursed through his veins, much as he felt when slaying Nagini in the bowels of the Ministry.

Voldemort did not scream, but Harry knew that his attack caused excruciating pain. After a few moments, however, the dark lord forced his mind to retake control. Suddenly, without having the slightest idea how it happened, Harry felt himself surrounded, though by what he could not determine.

"Now you will suffer, Potter," Voldemort's voice snarled, his pain and anger evident.

Harry's mind, still somewhere inside of Voldemort's, became constricted. Something squeezed it from all sides, and then it began. First a numbness, then a dull throbbing, then real pain. Harry began to panic; he needed to escape this trap immediately, but he could not think rationally. In desperation, he thought to himself, "PUSH, PUSH, PUSH." And with all of his power, he pushed out against the wall, and the battle truly began.

The two wizards' minds entangled in a way that neither of them understood, but they understood one aspect of it: the pain. Voldemort screamed now, Harry could hear it, but he could not enjoy it due to the explosion of pain in his scar, pain that he had not felt for years. The two minds alternately pushed, squeezed, slashed, bludgeoned, and battered each other, neither able to gain any advantage over the other. Minutes passed by, with the pain mounting for both participants, until both weakened.

Unknown to Harry, he had been screaming his lungs out in his bedroom, thrashing about on his bed, arms and legs flailing. Hermione and Ginny, both in their nightclothes, arrived first, followed a second later by Ron. Even Mr. and Mrs. Weasley could hear Harry from their room several halls away, and they arrived half a minute later, tying their robes around their stomachs. The five onlookers stared wide-eyed at the young man in anguish, but whose face nevertheless displayed tremendous determination.

Hermione had restrained Ginny from going to Harry, recalling her own experience at the museum when she touched Harry during the Hufflepuff Cup battle.

When Mrs. Weasley arrived, she yelled, "What's happening to Harry? Somebody help him!" and she moved towards the bed only to be grabbed by Ron's right arm.  
"Don't touch him, mum," he shouted to be heard over the noise coming from Harry, "We can't help him. He has to do this on his own."

"But what is he doing?" Arthur asked loudly.

Hermione turned and explained in a shout, "He's inside Voldemort's mind, or Voldemort is inside of his. Something has happened. They're fighting."

"Inside You Know Who's mind?" Molly screamed, "No!" Taking one last look at the boy she loved more than he knew, she fainted into Ron's arms.

"Get her to a bed," Arthur shouted in fear, and Ron and he half lifted and half dragged the plump woman down the hall to the first room with a bed.

"Is he going to die?" a trembling Ginny asked quietly, but Hermione couldn't hear her.

"What?" the older girl asked loudly.

"Is he going to die?" Ginny half shouted, her arms trembling. Never had she seen anything like it.

"NO!" Hermione shouted with utmost determination, "WE'RE NOT GOING TO LET HIM." Recalling Harry's struggle with Slytherin's locket, she dragged Ginny next to Harry's head and yelled into his ear, "WE'RE HERE, HARRY. YOU CAN DO IT! HE KILLED YOUR PARENTS. HE KILLED SIRIUS. YOU CAN DO IT!"

Ginny froze, shocked to hear the Head Girl shouting like a fan at the quidditch final, but she trusted that Hermione knew what to do and joined in, "YOU CAN DO IT, HARRY." She did not understand exactly what Harry needed to do.

As they continued shouting encouragement, Harry felt exhausted He wanted to get out of Voldemort's mind, but he could not figure out where to go or what to do. Thrashing about both on his bed and in the enemy's mind, Harry failed in his attempts to focus his mind. But he knew that Voldemort suffered too, which encouraged him to continue.

Suddenly, the pain ceased, and Harry found himself on the outside of a brick wall. He stopped screaming and thrashing, and Ginny and Hermione stopped their chants, watching their friend while holding their breath. In a moment, Harry understood what had happened. Voldemort gave up. He pushed Harry to the side and set up his wall through Occlumancy.

"I did it!" he barely whispered, but Ginny and Hermione heard him. They remained silent, but looked worryingly at each other. Harry removed himself from Voldemort's head, and lay his own head down on his pillow in exhaustion.

"Is he all right?" he heard Ginny ask fearfully.

"I think so," he heard Hermione answer, "He's breathing OK. Let me check."

But before Hermione could perform a diagnostic check with her wand, Harry managed an exhausted smile and whispered without opening his eyes, "I'm OK. Wasn't much fun though."

Ginny continued trembling, but Hermione, more experienced with Harry's irritating habit of enduring extreme pain, asked, "Are you all right, Harry? Can we do anything for you?"

"My head hurts. Potion."

"Get the pain-relieving potion, Ginny; it's in the kitchen," Hermione ordered, but Ginny's feet remained immobile. "NOW!" The raised voice unstuck her feet, and the redhead shot out the door and down to the kitchen to find the potion.

Hermione pulled up the chair from the desk and sat next to the bed, taking Harry's hand into hers. He squeezed it gently in thanks.

In a moment, he asked, "Is there any water?" The Head Girl left her wand in her room, but seeing Harry's wand on the table, she grasped it and rapidly conjured a glass and filled it with pure, cold water.

"Here you go, Harry." The boy finally opened his eyes, but the light from the wall lamps, though dim, blinded him. Hermione immediately incanted "nox" at three of the lamps to dim the room further. "Is that better?" He opened his eyes again, and found the light level more to his liking.

"Thanks," he muttered, and took a deep gulp from the glass. After another gulp, the water disappeared, but Hermione quickly grabbed it and filled the glass anew. At that moment, Ginny came running back with the potion.

"Are you OK, Harry," she huffed, as none of the four of them had much opportunity for exercise lately. She poured the correct measure of the navy blue mixture into a glass and handed it to him.

"I'm fine," Harry assured them, gradually coming back to life, "I just have a terrific headache." He gulped down the potion, and made a face at the acrid taste. "I don't even want to know what's in this stuff. Can you give me some more water?"

And so the two girls tended to the young wizard for the next several minutes, when Ron and Mr. Weasley returned. The potion helped, and other than exhaustion and a dull throbbing in his scar, Harry suffered no serious injury.

The others wanted to know what happened, but with Mr. Weasley in the room, they did not ask. Instead, Arthur informed them that Molly felt better and rested comfortably in her bed. After assuring himself of Harry's condition, he returned to be with his wife.

As soon as his father stepped out the door, Ron closed it, pulled out his wand and said, "Silencio. What happened, Harry?"

"Had a chat with Voldemort," Harry responded, "He wasn't in a very good mood, but then again, neither was I."

His friends waited for him to say more, but Harry fell back onto his pillow and closed his eyes. A minute passed, and nobody wanted to press him for any more information.

Ultimately he rewarded their patience as Harry spoke again, "It was kind of like fighting a horcrux. Magical power. Pain. Really can't explain it. You had to be there. But it worked. He was in a lot of pain, more than I was. I could feel it. He gave up. Pushed me out with Occlumency."

"So, that means you won, right?" Ron asked, trying to read between the lines of Harry's cryptic statements.

"I guess you could say that."

"You were stronger than You Know Who?" Ginny gasped in disbelief. Harry reopened his eyes and stared at the redhead with irritation.

"I AM stronger than he is. And say his name! No 'You Know Who's' around here"

Chastised, Ginny said nothing, and Hermione wrapped a comforting arm around her. The older girl pondered the events of the evening.

"Do you think you really accomplished something, Harry? I mean, I don't think you really discovered any information, did you? You were in a lot of pain. It may not be a good idea to do this again."

"I accomplished a lot," Harry retorted, "Voldemort knows that I mean business now. He knows that I am more powerful, and that he's no longer in control. With Dumbledore gone, he thought he had no more obstacles. Now he knows differently."

Ron nodded his head in agreement, and asked, "So what are we going to do next?"

Harry closed his eyes again but spoke clearly, "We're going to take a trip. It's time to pay Mrs. Malfoy a visit at McNaughton Castle."


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

Now the Hard Part Begins

Hermione Granger stomped across the floor of her bedroom, extremely displeased. Harry Potter had just detailed a plan which did not come close to meeting her standards, especially such details as, "Once I get there, I'll figure out what to do," or, "Hopefully we won't run into anybody." The plan essentially involved Harry possessing Issamir, entering McNaughton Castle by way of the serpent's instincts, and then winging it.

The girls had been conversing in their bedroom when Ron and Harry arrived a couple hours after dinner, and they decided to stay there, rather than moving to their usual meeting place, Harry's room. Ginny and Hermione had applied some feminine touches to the room, flowery bed coverings, pictures on the walls and furniture, and so forth. Harry's room, however, generally surpassed their room in terms of neatness, as Dobby made sure of that. On the other hand, with two beds and extra chairs, the girls' room provided a more comfortable setting for their discussions. The tension among the four remained below the surface, but they generally managed to set aside their personal differences during these meetings.

"This is not a plan, Harry. It's not even a start of a plan. There are only about ten million things that can go wrong." The witch's hair bounced back and forth with the force of her voice.

"Don't exaggerate, Hermione, there are only about five thousand things that can go wrong." Harry's friends failed to laugh at his feeble attempt at a joke, not when he planned on entering a castle occupied by at least one hundred death eaters, trolls, dementors, and who knew what else.

Ron usually agreed with Harry in these arguments, preferring action to planning, though he often offered useful observations. In this case, however, Harry's plan, if that word could properly be used to describe it, lacked common sense and any decent hope of success. Ron could not sign off on it. Even if he still harbored resentment against his former girlfriend, this issue transcended such pettiness.

"I have to agree with Hermione, Harry. There is just too much that can go wrong. Let's think this through a little more." Ginny nodded her head vigorously in agreement.

Frustration showed in the lines on Harry's forehead and eyes, as he paced the room. Sure, the plan had flaws, but what could he do? No other way could work. He had even considered asking Fawkes to help him, but Dumbledore explained that the phoenix would be unable to assist in such an operation for reasons Harry did not entirely understand. Dumbledore had limited knowledge of the castle, which had been infused with dark magic for centuries. The professor knew that a phoenix could not overcome its barriers. Still, Harry had confidence that Issamir could gain entry to the castle and move about undetected. Once he found Mrs. Malfoy, he would apply Ginny's plan of obtaining the information, modifying her memory, and slipping back out. It COULD work. He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes, as the others waited for him to respond. Finally Harry set his jaw and faced his doubters.

"Your objections have been noted. I'm going anyway." The three gaped at him in disbelief.

"Please reconsider, Harry," Hermione pleaded, "You can't be serious."

Not serious? That was the last straw - that she would think him not serious. He stood and faced her, gritting his teeth.

"I have NEVER been more SERIOUS in my life. This is MY life on the line; don't you think I know it. We HAVE to have this information, and this is the ONLY way. We have the advantage of surprise. Voldemort still doesn't know that we know about the horcruxes. He has no reason to believe that we're after Narcissa Malfoy. The plan can work, and I'm going to do it."

Hermione shuddered slightly from the ferocity of Harry's response, but she stood her ground.

"It's not just YOUR life on the line. It's all of ours. If you die, who do you think Voldemort's going to come after? You're the one who told me. He'll come after all of your friends. We have just as much reason to want this to work, and right now, it just has no chance. We don't know anything about McNaughton Castle, other than it's been associated with dark magic for centuries. We have to have patience."

"But how are we going to find out about the castle? You've already tried to research it and found just a few generalities. If this is as much as we're going to know, then we better get on with it." The four friends stared silently at each other, but nobody contradicted Harry. Finally he lowered his voice and asked, "Will you help me? I would really appreciate it."

"Of course we'll help," answered Ron, his lanky red hair hanging below his ears, "but I don't know what we can do. We can't get into the castle. About all we can do is wait for you. And hope."

"We'll need Hermione's help for sure."

"What do you need me to do?" Hermione asked with a puzzled expression. Harry smiled sheepishly.

"Since we've never been to the castle, or anywhere near there, we can't apparate. We could apparate to Hogsmeade, but we can't take the risk that we might be recognized. We need to take the muggle train, and . . ., well, I don't know very well how to get around on the train. I've only been on the Hogwarts Express and the Underground."

"Oh, Harry!" cried his female friend, "I'll help. You know I will. When do we go?"

"Tomorrow."

Hermione succeeded in convincing Harry to wait a couple of days to give them the opportunity to make what plans they could.

"We need a good map of the area around McNaughton Castle," Hermione decided as she pored over an engraving of the castle in a large tome from the Black family library, "Even though muggles can't see the castle, they can see the hills and valley, and muggles have mapped everything. We should buy a topographical map of the area."

"A what?" Ron and Ginny asked simultaneously. Harry vaguely recalled hearing about such a thing, but could not remember exactly.

"A topographical map," repeated the brilliant Gryffindor, "It's a map that shows the terrain of a certain area, how high the mountains are and how low the valleys. I have discovered where it is, but we need to decide how it would be best for Harry and Issamir to approach it."

The four disguised themselves again and made the trek to a camping store that Hermione had visited in the past with her parents, as on occasion they had camped in her younger days. Soon they located the topographical map for the area around the castle. To the other three, the map appeared to be an incomprehensible mess of lines and numbers, but Hermione explained it to them briefly at the store, promising to go into more detail back at Harry's house.

They hovered over a table in the library of Grimmauld Place, two books opened to one side, and the newly purchased map spread out before them, the corners held down by more books. After much study, they narrowed down the area in which the castle must reside, and they studied that space line by line. Eventually they determined that Harry would best approach the medieval structure from the northeast. A small village sat just a few miles away on the other side of a ridge, so they decided that they would travel to the village the next day, and then assess the area in person. Not much, perhaps, but at least the four felt that they did what they could to prepare.

Ginny would not be allowed to go with them. Despite her protests, the other three determined that her presence would not be necessary for the operation, and would only cause difficult questioning by Mrs. Weasley. Besides, as a minor it would not be proper to take Ginny along without her parents' consent, and they had no intention of asking for such consent. Ginny finally conceded defeat, though Harry noticed that she threw several irritated glances towards Hermione, not at all happy that the older witch would make the trip while Ginny had to stay in London with her mother.

Molly's vigorous protests bore out the wisdom of this decision, as she worked herself into a furor when informed that Harry, Hermione and Ron would be gone for a few days to an undisclosed location. When they refused to answer any of her questions, she put her foot down and forbade them from going, but Harry put an end to the discussion.

"We were not asking for your permission, Mrs. Weasley. We are going tomorrow; we have no choice. The decision has been made." With that, he rose from his seat in the kitchen and left, Ron and Hermione following close behind.

The trip north took most of the next day, as they had to change trains twice, waiting in the stations for an hour or so until their line arrived. The final stop still left them several miles from the small village of Connery's Knoll, where they intended to rent a room for a couple of days. A taxi took them the final stretch, dropping them in front of the local hostel. The caretaker looked askance at the three teens, two boys and a girl, renting just one room, but she did not vocalize an objection. In a few moments, the three dropped their travel bags into a sparse room, two twin beds and a sofa which pulled out into a bed. Two nondescript pictures adorned otherwise dingy bare walls. Neither of the beds looked especially comfortable, but they did not care.

Connery's Knoll sat in a narrow valley created by rugged, if not especially high Scottish mountains. Finding a place to eat did not present a problem, as only one eating establishment existed in the town, The King's Pub. They realized how out-of-place they looked when they took their seats at a table, inspecting the crowd of grizzled men and women who by all appearances had never been to the big city. The patrons of the pub stared at the three teens momentarily, but Harry took care of the problem by pointing his wand under the table and silently pronouncing "Muffliato." Suddenly the crowd returned to their conversations and the football game broadcast on the televisions perched high on the walls.

After quietly eating their supper, the three friends watched the final minutes of the football game, or better said, watched with mild amusement the locals in the pub watching the match. For all of their adventures, Harry, Ron and Hermione had truly lived sheltered lives during their years at Hogwarts, and knew little about "real" life.

"This is how the world really is," Harry mused to his friends, "People getting together and having fun. Muggles seem to do that a lot better than us wizards and witches."

Ron and Hermione nodded their agreement, but said nothing. In fact, Harry could never recall a time when conversation among the three had been so difficult. Ron and Hermione still did not "converse" with each other, and though they no longer displayed fits of rage, or even long faces, the tension between them had begun to irritate Harry. He had so much to accomplish and hated having to deal with the new relationship among the three of them. Ron and Hermione sensed as much and tried their best to replicate the friendship of old, unsuccessfully. When combined with the knowledge of what they must do the next day, long silences punctuated their meal.

The match ended, and the pub had largely cleared out when Harry approached the bar to pay for their meal. The proprietor slid over to take the bills from the young lad, and looked him over.

"Not often we see young folk like you three 'round 'ere," the plump, middle-aged lady commented, "Passing through? Or planning to do some 'iking?"

Harry had not bothered to think of an alibi, which now he realized he should have, since they were fish out of water in this village.  
Thinking quickly, he decided to accept the latter suggestion of the lady, "Right, thought we'd take a look around these parts before heading further north. We have a couple of days before we have to be back."

"Well, plenty o' good walks 'round 'ere," she replied, "though it may be a bit chilly for you."

Maybe he could get some information from this muggle, Harry thought, so he continued the conversation.

"We have a map of the area. Seems to be a trail of some sort just up the road," Harry pointed back to where they had come, "What kind of hike is that?"

"Don' wan' t' go tha' way," interrupted an especially grizzled man at the bar, "at leas' don' go too far up there. Once you ge' over the ridge, bad things 'appen. Say its 'aunted, some say."

"Oh don' go scaring 'em, Nigel," the proprietor scolded, "There's been talk for years about that valley, but I've been over there years ago. Nothin' to worry about. It is a bit creepy, tha' much is true. You may wan' to try another path, just down tha' way a mile or so. Easier walking, if you ask me."

"Thanks," responded Harry, taking his change, "If we have time, maybe we'll try both. We'll be sure not to go too far." He knew they had found the right place.

The three friends walked about the small town for a few minutes, which is all it took to see it, before returning to their room. Though tired from the day's travel, none of them wanted to go to bed. Tomorrow would be a momentous day, for better or worse. They poured over the map again, making plans to hike up the trail a ways in the morning to do a bit of reconnaissance. Final plans could be made afterwards. Harry had let Issamir loose in the room, and from time to time would let it know what they planned. The serpent had no objection.

Three healthy teenagers in the prime of life huffed up the mountainous trail. So much time cooped up in Grimmauld Place had drastically reduced their physical endurance, and the three or four miles up and down the slopes gave them all that they wanted. Yet none of them complained, and only rarely did they pause to catch their breath in the thinner air. The mountains were barren or covered with low vegetation, occasionally punctuated with groves of gnarled trees. The trail did not appear heavily traveled, and at times they had to consult the topographical map to determine which way the trail should head.

Outdoors men they were not. None of them had proper hiking cloths and wore old jeans and sweatshirts. At first the early morning dampness chilled them, but after a half hour's exertion on the hills, they appreciated the invigorating cool air.

Gloom surrounded them. The December clouds hung low, and from time to time a cold mist descended over the trail. Having left early in the morning, they reached the entrance to the McNaughton Castle valley by 9:30 am. They could not be sure how far down the valley the castle stood, but they could not see it from their current location. The valley tended to zigzag, so that they would never have a clear view of the entire length. At this point, the three decided that they could no longer safely remain on the trail.

Examining the map and comparing it to what their eyes revealed, they decided to veer off the trail to the left, where they could climb a promontory from which they hoped to be able to spy the castle. At first they descended slightly into the very edge of the valley before clambering up the ridge to the small peak. With no tree cover for protection, they approached from behind and crawled on top so as not to be seen from below. At last they could see McNaughton Castle in the distance, though partially obscured by the mist and lower hills in front of them. From where they lay, the medieval structure stood perhaps three quarters of a mile away, and they felt that they could not risk a closer approach at this time. Who knew what evils protected this castle.

Removing their omnioculars from their rucksacks, the same ones purchased by Harry at the Quidditch World Cup seemingly a lifetime ago, they zoomed their lenses to obtain a closer view. The castle was huge, though not as large as Hogwarts. It's thick grey walls practically melted into the barren ground around it, except for a forest of trees to the right. No moat protected the castle, which pleased Harry greatly, as he did not relish the thought of swimming among unknown creatures while inside of Issamir's body. No, the castle could be reached by land, but where to approach? They could not see the main entrance, which appeared to be on the far side. From their vantage point, they could see only the back and the side. From what they could determine, the castle had been built on a severe slope, and gaining access from below would require rope and climbing equipment. After half an hour of study and quiet discussion, they decided. Harry and Issamir would approach through the grove of trees. None of them dared hazard a guess as to the denizens of those trees.

The three had never been happier to be wizards and witch on their return journey. They chose a slight hollow in the mountain just behind the peak as their apparation site, and they committed it to memory. Then they avoided the hike out by apparating to a secluded spot they had discovered near the trail head. From there they walked along the narrow highway the half mile back to Connery's Knoll. It seemed they had been gone all day, but as Harry glanced at the small digital clock in their room, it only displayed 1:30 pm.

After eating a hearty but nervous lunch at the pub, they sat down one last time to make the final plans. All three of them showed signs of nerves, speaking softly, with an air of resignation. At last they agreed that they had done all they could do. They would leave in two hours time, in the early evening.

"Do you think it can actually work?" Ron asked, rubbing his eyes with his hands. With so many unknowns, Hermione and he felt almost helpless

"It can work," Harry averred with as much confidence as he could muster, "but I don't think the bookies are going to give us very good odds."

Hermione decided that the time for second-guessing had passed, and like a coach of a team facing a superior opponent, she put on a good face.

"I know it can work. Like Harry said, we have the element of surprise, and they won't be expecting Harry to come in the body of a snake. You just have to be patient, Harry. Take all night if you have to. We'll be well hidden, and if we get cold, we'll put warming spells on each other, so don't worry about us. Get the information you need then get out of there." Harry nodded his understanding, and then stood and stretched his sore back muscles.

"Well, I may as well take a shower. Don't want to stink when I meet Mrs. Malfoy. Bad manners."

Ron and Hermione appreciated Harry's nervous good humor, and Ron indicated that he would buy some sandwiches and drinks to take with them. It could be a long night.

Harry looked forward to a nice hot shower, perhaps his last, but the shower in their less than luxurious room either flowed too cold or too hot, and no matter how he tried to adjust the faucet, he could not get it right. He could take care of it if he had his wand, but he had left it out in the room. Finally he gave up, turned off the water, and wrapped a towel around his waist so that he could look for his wand.

He stepped dripping wet into the room where Hermione lay on one of the beds, fiddling with her rucksack. She looked up at her mostly naked friend, and could not help staring at him.

Harry suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable, and muttered, "Need my wand. Can't get the water the right temperature." Hermione just nodded but could say nothing. Her long-time friend could not be considered a great physical specimen by any means. Nevertheless, he had put on a bit of muscle as he matured, and given his natural slimness, she considered him handsome as he pulled his towel a little tighter around his waist. But his body showed the wear and tear of his troubled life. Hermione had rarely seen Harry without a shirt, and certainly never stepping out of the shower dripping wet. But after the shock wore off, she could not help but notice the many scars on his body.

Harry saw her perplexed expression and asked, "What?"

"Oh, well, I've just never seen all of your scars," she explained with more than a touch of embarrassment, "I mean, I never knew you had so many." She tried to look away but couldn't.

Harry walked over to the dresser where the ancient TV sat, as he thought he had left his wand there, but he had not.

As he turned sideways, Hermione saw an especially long scar, and despite herself, she asked, "What's that one." Harry looked where she pointed.

"Dragon. Triwizard Tournament. This one's from the Basilisk."

Hermione felt her temperature rising, and could only respond, "Oh." Harry finally located his wand on the night stand in between the two twin beds, and he walked past Hermione to collect it. She continued to stare at his mementos of war as if she were Luna Lovegood, but said nothing else. As quickly as he could, Harry returned to his shower and wondered why he felt so strange. Soon the soothing warm water relaxed his muscles, and his mind returned to the task at hand: McNaughton Castle.

"Wand, Issamir, veritaserum."

Harry made sure he had all that he needed, and then hissed briefly at the snake, letting it know that they were about to descend from the hollow where they had just apparated down to the creek at the bottom of the valley.

Ron and Hermione had bundled up against the cold in thick jackets and scarves, and all three of them had cast warming spells on the others which helped fight off the chill. A few stars peered through the broken grey clouds above them, but otherwise the night sky was pitch black. Moonless. Harry did not dress as warmly, as he did not want the bulk of the clothing on him when he left the serpent's body inside the castle. He shivered despite the warming charm, especially when the mostly mild breeze unexpectedly gusted.

"Keep quiet. And don't make any light. Stay right here. Somehow I'll get back." Harry seemed unable to say a sentence more than a few words long, and his nerves only contributed to his shivering.

Hermione stepped forward and as best she could through her down jacket she hugged Harry and kissed his cheek.

"We'll be here. Remember take your time and be patient. Take all night if you have to." Simple words, but they took all of her effort to speak. She wondered if she would ever see him again. So much could go wrong.

Ron patted Harry on the back, but could only offer a simple, "Good luck." Harry turned and took a few steps, only to stop.

Without looking back, he said, "If I don't . . . . I just want you to know how much I appreciate everything you've meant to me. Tell Ginny too." He wanted to say more, but the words did not form in his brain, and he stepped forward quickly and with determination. He did not see the tears on Hermione's face.

Within a couple of minutes, Harry, with Issamir in his pocket but with its head testing the air, arrived at the creek, perhaps half a mile above the castle. He would have liked to walk closer to the castle before entering the body of the serpent, but that would be too dangerous. For one thing, he could not see anything in the pitch black, and he knew that Issamir's eyes functioned better in the dark. More importantly, however, was the fact that he heard rustling in the bushes. The two agreed, and Harry set Issamir on the ground next to a small boulder. In a moment he disappeared.

"Relax as much as you can, Harry Potter, so that you can stay inside me for as long as possible. I will determine how to enter the castle. It should not be difficult."

With that the slender grey serpent shot like a spear from behind the rock and slithered the few yards to the creek, carefully entering the freezing cold water. Harry knew that the water had to be cold, but he did not feel cold himself, and he wondered how that could be. The creek by no means produced a torrent of water. Instead it babbled overs smooth rocks and around larger boulders. Issamir expertly navigated the obstacles, occasionally stopping to lift its head and test the air. Within minutes, McNaughton Castle loomed large above them.

Issamir slipped silently from the quiet brook when the waterway bent towards the grove of trees next to the castle. Harry could feel the tension inside the snake, clearly concerned about the unknown. It slid noiselessly from rock to rock, bush to bush, and tree to tree. Harry heard noises and knew animals lurked about. He had to concentrate on not losing possession of his host, but more than once he almost lost the connection. At least he knew no werewolves would be out on this moonless night.

As they patiently approached the castle wall, Harry felt unsettled, cold. His mind started to waver, and just in time he recognized the presence of a dementor.

"Issamir! Dementor! Please hide until it passes." The snake slid off to the right into a hole created by the convergence of three rocks. They waited.

The dementor seemed to feel something human and dallied in the area. Harry began to hear faint voices in his mind, and he knew that he had to stay under control in order not to lose the connection with Issamir's body, but the voices became louder. "Not Harry," he heard faintly but clearly. Just as panic began to set, Harry realized what he had to do. With a moment's concentration, he erected the ice wall of Occlumency in his brain. He knew nothing more.

"Harry Potter. Harry Potter. Are you awake? We must go, Harry Potter. The dark phantom has passed."

The hissed words of the snake renewed Harry's connection with his thoughts, and in a moment he recalled where he was and what he was doing.

"I'm fine, Issamir, let's move." The snake moved its head out of its shelter and tested the air, only to retract back into the hole. Through Issamir's ears and eyes, Harry heard footsteps and then saw the feet of two men walking by. Though he could not see above the ankles, he knew they had to be death eaters on patrol, and more than ever he felt happy to be hidden within the body of the serpent. Issamir waited a few moments before gracefully exiting the hole and slithering closer to the castle wall.

The stand of trees could hardly be classified as a forest, yet in the dark of the moonless night the grove bustled with activity. Harry thought he saw hoofs of a unicorn, though from the eye level of the snake, he could not see the whole animal. A number of mice and rats scurried away from them, afraid of Issamir, but Harry did not give them a second thought, more worried about being prey himself to a larger animal or bird. The gnarled pines and firs seemed to be full of dark magic themselves, and Harry almost expected them to pick up their roots and walk. With relief they finally reached the side wall of McNaughton Castle.

"How are you going to get in?" asked Harry.

"An entrance will present itself," came the simple response of the serpent, which slithered along the edge of the large grey stone blocks which supported the medieval castle. Harry had no idea what the castle truly looked like, as he could only see the bottom three or four feet of its base. Issamir constantly tested the air with his tongue. Minutes passed, and Harry began to worry that the snake would be unable to gain entry.

Suddenly Harry felt the tell-tale rush of cold throughout him. Dementors had returned; a bunch of them. No doubt the earlier encounter had whetted the appetite of the shadowy creature, and it brought more of its companions looking for the human essence that it sensed earlier.

At the moment, the creatures remained at a distance, and with urgency Harry told Issamir, "The dementors are coming back. We have to get inside the castle now. They are sensing me somehow." Involuntarily, his thoughts moved up the valley three fourths of a mile to where his best friends currently huddled together. Harry could only hope that the dementors could not sense them that far away.

"Do not worry, Harry Potter. I have found the entrance."

True to his word, Issamir traveled another six feet and then turned left, directly into the wall of the castle. From afar, it would have appeared that the snake pierced the stone itself, but in fact Harry found himself inside a drainage pipe. Though pitch black, even for the snake's sensitive eyes, Issamir nevertheless could "see" through its tongue, which it now constantly flicked. Harry had never experienced such a claustrophobic space, as the width of the pipe measured only two or three times the diameter of the serpent itself. There was no turning back, for Issamir could not have turned around even if it wanted to. The only consolation Harry could find was that the serpent remained calm and unconcerned.

The pipe sloped upwards at almost a forty-five degree angle, damp and cold with the residue of water. For what seemed like hours, they could see nothing, but after a few minutes, Issamir sensed that the pipe split in two directions. The snake stopped and inserted its body half way in the pipe to the right, repeatedly flicking its tongue. It then repeated the process to the left. For reasons it did not deem necessary to explain, Issamir chose the left, and before Harry knew what happened, they slid along at great speed. Gradually Harry realized that he could see, barely. Light came from somewhere, and Issamir intended to find it. Soon the light increased, and Harry could see the pipe clearly. The dim light entered from a pipe leading off to the right. Issamir slid up the steeply inclined side line more slowly, but in a few moments, it poked its head cautiously out of a drain. Finding the room empty, the serpent at last exited the pipe.

"We are in the castle, Harry Potter. Now the hard part begins."

"The hard part?" thought Harry, but he did not allow himself to finish the thought. He had tired considerably with the effort of possessing the snake. They had been at it for over an hour, and Harry knew that he needed a break.

"Issamir, I will leave your body for a few minutes. We need to rest." A moment later, Harry Potter's body appeared in a service room of some sort, which from the looks of it had not been used in recent times. Completely vacant, enough light came under the door that Harry could barely see. He sat down on the cold stone floor, leaning against the wall, and took several deep breaths to calm his nerves.

"Issamir is right," he thought, "Now we start the hard part."


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

Timing Is Everything

Issamir and Harry rested in a different storage room after another hour of moving about McNaughton Castle in the body of the serpent. The human slumped against a cold wall, breathing heavily, exhausted from the energy required to maintain possession of the snake. The reptile coiled, exhausted both from being possessed and from the physical exertion required to move about the enormous castle. Both additionally suffered from the mental strain of expecting a death eater or troll to be hidden behind every corner.

Yet for their first hour in the ancient structure, they encountered nothing but a few rats and mice. Harry was completely lost by now. In his own body, he rarely had problems with directions, but he could not orient himself while looking through the ground-level eyes of Issamir. Fortunately, Issamir seemed to remember where they had been, and as far as Harry could determine, they had not been traveling in circles. Given the enormous size of the castle, however, in their hour of slithering, Harry figured they had not seen even one fourth of it. Obviously the inhabitants of the castle must be congregated in another section of it. They decided to take a breather before pushing on.

"What do you think we should do?" Harry hissed to the serpent, the question more rhetorical than real.

Issamir answered nonetheless, "We must cover more ground and do it more quickly. Traveling along the passages is slow going, as we must take great care at every corner and at every door. If we could enter pipes that connect the rooms of the castle, we would be able to check more rooms quickly without the need for so much caution."

Harry understood Issamir's point, but he was hardly an architect. Nevertheless, he intimately knew one medieval castle, familiar with its nooks and crannies. Hogwarts, Harry recalled, had a ventilation system of sorts, at least for the interior classrooms which lacked windows. The dungeons and certain other rooms were not connected to this system, but probably most of the important rooms were. Perhaps McNaughton Castle contained the same system. He looked all around the dark storage room, lighting his wand to see if any such ventilation passage existed. Unfortunately, if it did exist, this room did not connect to it.

"I understand, Issamir. There is no such pipe here, but we will keep our eyes open for one once we go back out."

Five minutes later, Harry cracked open the door before reentering the serpent's body, and the excruciatingly slow search of the castle resumed. At first Harry thought that the second round would be as fruitless as the first, but within minutes they heard distant voices. Issamir found a darkened corner in which to hide, as the noise approached. Soon Harry recognized the sound of footsteps, and then voices could faintly be understood.

"I don't know. Stop asking me."

"But Malfoy is becoming unhinged. Something needs to be done about him. Someone needs to inform the dark lord."

Harry did not recognize the two male voices, but clearly they must be death eaters, and not pleased with Lucius Malfoy.

"Fine. You go ahead and seek permission to leave this bloody castle to seek an audience with the dark lord. I'm sure Malfoy will be happy to grant you permission." Sarcasm dripped from his voice.

"I know, I know," complained the first man, as the two now passed almost in front of Harry/Issamir, "but Malfoy has his own agenda. Since Potter killed his son, he has been hell-bent on revenge. Nothing else matters to him, not even the dark lord's orders. We are all going to pay for his treason." With this comment the two men stopped, about fifteen feet down the corridor, and they looked at each other with worried eyes. They both wore typically black wizard's robes over dark pants. The first man to speak had handsome features, still a young man perhaps in his thirties, with short, well-groomed blond hair. His companion appeared a few years older, with thin black hair hanging freely below his shoulders. Issamir remained motionless, invisible to the two men.

The second man, after checking both directions, finally resumed the conversation in a soft voice, "We need to send word to headquarters. Who can do it without being noticed? It wouldn't be too difficult or take too long. As you know we can apparate out of the castle with the password spell, and he could get to the Ministry. Then he could apparate back up the valley a bit, and we can sneak him back into the castle. You and I can't be the ones. We would be missed within an hour. In fact, we need to be getting back. Malfoy will be expecting us."

"Follow them!" Harry hissed urgently at Issamir, unnecessarily, as the snake had already turned to track them, keeping a safe distance. It captured the scent of the men, so it did not need to keep them in sight. Harry could no longer hear them, but from time to time would just catch a glimpse. Excitement flowed through him as they began the chase.

Ten minutes later, their progress slowed in the populated section of the castle, on the fourth floor of the castle if Harry counted correctly, and many people passed by. None of them noticed the slender grey snake darting from one dark corner to another. Despite the new scents, Issamir had no difficulty in keeping track of the two original ones, and haltingly they made progress. Finally they reached a closed door.

"The men are behind this door, Harry Potter. I cannot enter while it is so tightly shut. There is not enough room underneath it."

Harry pondered what to do for a minute, checking for some other means of entrance, when for once fortune shined on him. The door opened suddenly, allowing three death eaters to exit.

As they passed, Harry urged Issamir, "DO IT!"

The snake sprung from its hiding spot and just slid past the door before it closed again, and faster than it seemed possible, Issamir had darted under a cabinet to the right of the entry. Harry could only see the bottom, a mere four or five inches above them. Issamir slowly approached the front edge of the cabinet and Harry could see the lower half of the room, including all but the top of Lucius Malfoy's head. The death eater sat in a plain wooden chair, legs crossed, listening disinterestedly to the others in the room.

Harry could not help but feel anger well up inside of him at the sight of the man, and the desire to bring Lucius Malfoy to justice surged, and not the justice meted out by a court of law. Rapid-fire images sped through his brain: Lucius mistreating Dobby, fighting with Mr. Weasley on Diagon Alley, bowing before the reborn Voldemort in the graveyard This man deserved no mercy.

To Malfoy's right Harry spied four death eaters, two seated and two standing (the men they had tracked). To his left sat a sad-eyed woman: Narcissa Malfoy.

Harry had found her. Now what? For the moment, Harry knew, he had to wait.

"Take all night if you have to" had been Hermione's words, and it seemed that Harry may need the entire evening and more. He worried, however, that too much time passed. The effort to remain within the body of Issamir had taken its toll. Since his last rest, the two had been merged for at least half an hour, and though he felt under control at the moment, what if the conversation dragged on for hours.

Luck blessed him again, however, as within a minute or two, the four men took their leave, passing within a few feet of Issamir's head. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy remained alone, and Harry took a moment to scan the area, a large meeting room of some kind, with a few ancient wooden tables and cabinets standing here and there. Bare stone walls surrounded them, and on one of the tables sat a stack of parchment which the men had just finished reviewing.

Through his serpent eyes, Harry stared at his prey. Narcissa Malfoy looked terrible. She could not have been more than fifty years old, Harry figured, but she looked seventy at least. Her hair had greyed and wrinkles lined her pale white skin. No longer did she move with the bearing of an elite pure-blood; instead, Harry observed her rising from her chair with some difficulty and walking with her back slightly hunched. He could not recall how long it had been since he had last seen her, probably at Diagon Alley the summer before sixth year, but Harry had to convince himself that in fact this person was the same Narcissa Malfoy.

The couple quietly spoke to each other, but Harry sensed no warmth between them. Lucius' eyes shone with zeal, a craziness in them. The gaunt death eater had also aged, but still bore the demeanor of a man of status. It had to be after midnight, Harry figured, hoping they would be retiring to their living quarters. And in fact he overheard them agreeing that Lucius would accompany Narcissa to her room.  
"We must follow them, Issamir. She is the one." Issamir tested the air repeatedly to learn their scent, especially when they passed directly in front of the cabinet. The slender grey serpent darted out the door before it closed and into the dim area along the edge of the corridor, and then waited for the pair to move ahead, out of sight. When certain that the path ahead had cleared, Issamir began the slow process of darting along the edge of the passage.

Harry tired again, but adrenalin pumped through his brain. He could not give up control now, and Issamir carefully maneuvered his way down the wide hall, hiding at times when death eaters passed by. Suddenly, the serpent froze, and Harry felt it tense with fear.

"What is it?"

"Wolf."

"Hide until it passes by."

"Wolves hate serpents. It has sensed me. You must protect me, Harry Potter. The wolf will not stop until it kills me. There is no place to hide." Harry had never heard parseltounge spoken in fear; Issamir's hissing had risen two octaves.

Harry unknowingly took control of Issamir's eyes and noticed a row of three suits of armor several feet ahead.

"Get behind one of those," he hissed, taking control. He could now sense the wolf as well, running swiftly. The serpent darted behind the first suit while Harry chose a spot and immediately left Issamir's body, materializing between two of the suits of armor, accidentally bumping into one of them.

Before he could act, the wolf streaked around the corner and attacked Harry viciously, sinking its inch long canines into Harry's left arm. The pain immediately registered in Harry's brain, but he knew that he could not scream. Now he had to act. Having turned to his right to protect his right arm, Harry thrust his wand towards the wolf's mid-section. A moment before it made contact, at Harry's thought, and more importantly at his desire, the wand transformed into a foot-long blade, sharp as a newly honed axe. The yowl of the wolf as the knife thrust into its entrails echoed throughout the wing of the castle. An unearthly, evil howl of pain. The mottled brown wolf, some five feet in length and strong as an ox, released Harry's arm but continued to scratch him with its long blunt claws. Harry turned the blade to the right, and then thrust upward with all his strength, severing vital arteries. The wolf had been mortally wounded. Harry threw the animal to the floor with a thud.

Extreme pain from his left arm radiated throughout his scratched and bloodied body, but he had no time to deal with it, or even to think about it. Just a moment after the wolf hit the grey floor, three death eaters ran into view, having not been able to keep up with the animal. Their faces displayed shock at the sight of the mangled creature, and they froze for an instant. Harry knew that he needed to act and act immediately.

The bloody knife had reformed into his wand, and pumped with energy, Harry pointed it and silently thought, "Reducto." The blast which followed half a moment later thrust Harry into the wall behind him, the suits of armor crashing to the stone floor. The three death eaters flew through the air. To the left, one man sprung almost straight up, his head crushed by an low beam above him. He fell to the floor lifeless, Harry knew with certainty. The other two, a man and a woman, also crumpled to the floor unconscious, perhaps alive, perhaps not. Harry did not care. He scooped up Issamir, and ignorant of blood and pain, dashed in the direction that Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy had been walking.

Noise from the blast most definitely would attract many in the castle, and Harry had no idea what to do. He had just entered the "winging it" part of the plan. Racing as fast as he could, he encountered a man running towards him. The death eater stopped to attempt a spell at Harry, but Harry had already flicked a silent "stupefy" at him without breaking stride. His aim true, the man fell to the floor in front of Harry, who hurtled over him.

Issamir continuously tested the air, and as they passed a branch corridor, the snake hissed, "Stop! They turned here. Return to my body. I will take you there." But Harry had had enough of stealth; now he preferred speed.

"Not yet," he responded, and turned back to make the turn he had missed. Ahead he heard noises, so he slowed to a stop, wand trained ahead, back against the wall. Issamir wrapped around his neck so that Harry did not have to hold him.

"Two wizards approach," the serpent hissed.

"I understand," the wizard hissed back, waiting for them to appear. They must have heard Harry just as he heard them, because they did not continue towards him.

"They're waiting for me," he muttered to himself. Should he charge ahead, or should he wait? He felt pumped and ready to roll, but deep in his mind he knew he had to take greater care. He had only one chance. No do-overs. His problems compounded when he heard voices from the other direction, and if he did not act quickly, he could find himself surrounded.

He looked in all directions in semi-panic, when above him he spotted a grate covering an opening. Hogwarts had similar grates, he remembered, part of the ventilation system.

"Up there, Issamir. I will enter you again." Harry jumped with the snake above his head, but they missed the opening, which lay just a few inches too high. "I'm a wizard!" he chastised himself, using his wand silently to float Issamir to the grate, and in a moment it slipped between the bars and into the duct. Harry turned a moment later, a soft crack in the air marking his disappearance.

They looked down to where they had just stood. In a few moments, spells cast from both directions sparked against the walls. Four death eaters entered, dumfounded at the emptiness.

"He has an invisibility cloak," cried one, and immediately he pointed his wand aimlessly and shouted, "Accio cloak." Nothing happened.

Harry and Issamir had seen enough and moved down the air duct in the direction of the Malfoys. Each room on this hall had an opening for the ventilation, and they peered through each grate they encountered.

"Doesn't anybody sleep in this place?" Harry asked himself, for even though the hour had to be well past midnight, they saw no sleeping bodies but a number of wide-awake wizards and a few witches. Finally, at the last grate before the duct ended, Harry spied Narcissa Malfoy, now in a nightgown and crimson robe, preparing for bed. A light in an adjoining room flickered into the main chamber, and Harry took that to mean that Lucius stood out of sight in the antechamber.

"Timing is everything," Dumbledore had advised Harry many times in their recent training, "It can be as damaging to act too early as to act too late." Harry decided to wait until Lucius reentered the room before acting. Mrs. Malfoy sat at her bureau, removing jewelry, brushing her hair, and doing the things that ladies do before retiring in the evening (Harry had no idea about such things).

"Come on!" Harry hissed impatiently, shaking with anticipation, but he then instructed Issamir, "Stay here until I am done. I will be leaving your body soon."

"I will be here, Harry Potter. Good luck in your task. Thank you for saving my life."

Just as Issamir finished speaking, Lucius Malfoy stepped into the bed chamber, still fully dressed. Obviously he did not plan to sleep anytime soon, and probably intended to leave his wife to her ministrations. Harry could have allowed Lucius to leave, but then the death eater would hear of what had happened in the halls. Besides, deep inside, Harry wanted a piece of him.

Lucius turned towards his wife, his back now mostly to Harry, who picked a spot on the floor. With a muted crack he materialized directly on the spot. Though caught unprepared, Malfoy nevertheless reacted swiftly, reaching for his wand instantaneously. He acted too late. Harry's silent "stupefy" hit him in the side, and Lucius Malfoy crumpled to the ground.

"Accio wand," Harry next thought, and the wizard's wand flew into his hand. In the next few moments, Harry froze the incredulous Narcissa Malfoy with a "petrificus totalus," applied a locking spell on the thick, wooden door as well as a silencing charm. He hoped he had enough time.

Rapidly he turned Mrs. Malfoy, chair and all, towards him as she sat frozen. He reached into the pockets of her robe and in a moment found her wand. Finding everything to be in order, the young wizard released her from the spell.

"Do not speak," Harry ordered her with an air of authority, his wand pointed ominously at her, quivering in his hand. She remained mute, her eyes wide with fear.

"I did not mean to kill Draco," he spoke, not sure why he felt the need to say this, "We did not even know he was there." This would be the full extent of his apology, and he had no intention of uttering the word "sorry."

"Now I need information from you, and I cannot waste time." He pulled the vial of veritaserum from his pocket (an unbreakable charm had been placed on the vial by Hermione, of course). This part of the plan had in fact been rehearsed.

"Put out your hands," he ordered, and the shocked woman passively held them out. "Incarcerous," Harry muttered, wrapping her hands with rope. There could be no opportunity allowed for escape or resistance.

"Open your mouth." The woman remained motionless, more from fear than any attempt at resistance. Harry stared directly into her eyes, and she saw fury in the eyes of her captor. "OPEN YOUR MOUTH, I WILL NOT ASK AGAIN."

The mouth opened instantly, and Harry dropped four drops down her throat, then closed her mouth with his hands, forcing her to swallow. He did not act gently. Waiting twenty seconds or so, he saw the telltale glazed eyes and began his questioning.

"Where is the Hogwarts medal that belonged to Lord Voldemort? It used to hang in a frame in your library."

An unusually meek voice answered, "It remains at Malfoy Manor, in storage. It is in a box with other mementos of the dark lord."

"What room?"

"There is a service area in the basement of the manor, two rooms to the left of the basement entryway." Outside, Harry heard movement, and he knew that he had little time.

"How can you apparate out of the castle? What is the password?"

"The password is 'power.' If you say it as a spell, it will allow you ten seconds in which to apparate out of the castle. It is not possible to enter the castle in that way."

He had to move, and move fast, but a sudden thought occurred to the young wizard, a glint of malevolence in his eyes.

"Don't move!" Turning his attention to Lucius, he wrapped ropes around him as well and then pointed his wand at him. "Ennervate." The death eater regained his consciousness and upon seeing Potter, he sneered and opened his mouth to speak when Harry cut him off.

"I have a message for your master, Lord Voldemort." He emphasized the name because he knew it would upset Malfoy. "Tell him that I am coming for him, that he cannot defeat me. He should be worried, very worried. Tell the half blood that he has no secrets from me. Do you understand?" Malfoy did not move a muscle, his eyes full of venom. And with that Harry pointed his wand at the man's head. "Obliviate." The young wizard's eyes glared wildly at the death eater.

Lucius' eyes glazed over momentarily, after which Harry muttered, "Voldemort will have some fun getting that out of your head. Stupefy." Lucius slumped to the floor once more. The wizards in the hall now banged on the heavy wood door, waiting for one of the Malfoys to answer. Soon they would break it down.

"Accio Issamir," Harry called, and his reptile friend flew from the grate into Harry's hand and in a moment gracefully wrapped itself around the wizard's neck. About to leave, he saw Narcissa and realized that he in fact could take her with him.

"You're coming with me," he growled, and for the first time the woman tried to resist, but wandless and bound, she could do nothing. Harry roughly gripped her bony upper arm with his left hand, and with his right flicked his wand while reciting the password, "Power." Immediately he turned and disappeared from the chamber just seconds before death eaters smashed the door to bits.

He reappeared with Mrs. Malfoy slumped at his side to the spot he had left Ron and Hermione hours earlier, but to his surprise, his friends had moved. In a moment he knew why, for he felt the cold penetrate his body and his soul. He knew the creatures hovered behind him, and as he whipped himself around, he saw his best friends in the world battling a group of some two dozen dementors. They had retreated from their initial hiding spot when the dementors had approached, and their weak, ill-formed patronuses had served to detain the lifeless entities, but Harry could see that his friends had weakened. Under the effects of the dementors, they would be unable to apparate, and within minutes their bodies would be soulless shells.

Rage pulsed through Harry's already energized body, and without having to think of anything more than his two friends, he shouted with power and authority, "EXPECTO PATRONUM." As the sound of the spell echoed off the valley walls, the giant stag, last exhibited in the Blood Pub, charged the hundred yards to the pack in a blur, illuminating the entire section of the valley. The dementors had never experienced a force such as this, and they slowly floated away, but the stag raged with the fury inside of Harry, charging into the creatures incessantly, completely disintegrating several which did not move quickly enough. In a minute the valley returned back to normal, and the stag cantered back to Harry's side, briefly bowing its head before being reabsorbed back into the darkness. They stood blind in the darkness until their eyes readjusted. Harry grabbed the stunned Narcissa Malfoy by her arm and practically dragged her across the rough ground to his friends. They had not yet recovered, but Ron helped Hermione to her feet.

"Harry," Ron cried, and he helped Hermione walk a few steps towards him, "I've never been happier to see you. We almost . . . ."

Dropping Mrs. Malfoy unceremoniously to the ground, Harry first placed an antiapparation spell on the dazed woman to prevent her from leaving, and then he helped Ron move Hermione to a small boulder where she could sit.

"Are you guys all right? Why didn't you apparate before they came so close? I couldn't believe it when I saw . . ."

Hermione cut him off, "You did it, Harry. How did you get her out of the castle? You did it!" Her voice shook and contained equal parts disbelief and admiration. Harry's question had not been answered, but they had no time at the moment.

"It's a long story. We need to get out of here. Can you guys apparate yet?" Ron and Hermione had more or less recovered their senses and indicated that they could.

"All right then. Let's go directly to the hostel room. We'll grab our things and leave right away." Harry again grabbed Mrs. Malfoy, and after waiting for his friends to leave, he followed, and the four of them, plus Issamir still around Harry's neck, reappeared a moment later in the comfort of their room. Harry took one look around, stepped forward, and collapsed on the bed. In the safety of the room, the pain in his arm returned with a vengeance, not to mention the scratches on his other arm, neck and face.

"Harry!" Hermione yelled seeing him for the first time in the light. She rushed to his side, forgetting the effects of the dementors when she saw the blood all over his left arm and the scratches on his face and neck. "What happened to you?"

"Wolf bite. It wanted Issamir."

"Oh no! We have to get you back right away and find Madam Pomfrey. The saliva from wolf bites can be deadly if not treated within a few hours. Come on, let's go. Can you apparate?"

"Yeah. Grab our bags and leave some money on the table. Can one of you take her?"

After allowing Harry to take a few deep breaths, Ron helped Harry to stand, Issamir still coiled around his neck. Ron calmly instructed him, "Take your time, Harry. Once you're ready, go."

"Right," Harry agreed. As soon as he could stand solidly, he nodded. Ron carried all three of their rucksacks, Hermione grasped Mrs. Malfoy's arm, and in a moment they turned and reappeared across the street from Number 17 Grimmauld Place. The effort cost Harry all the energy he could muster, and he crumpled to the ground on the spot. Nobody walked the streets so early in the morning, but Ron did not pause to check for muggles. He dropped the bags, and with a strength he did not know he possessed, he flung his seventeen year-old friend over his shoulder, the serpent hanging on tightly, and rushed him across the street and into the house, yelling, "Dobby."

Hermione followed a few steps behind with Mrs. Malfoy, whose glazed eyes betrayed her disbelief at what had happened. Harry Potter, the boy who killed her beloved son, had just kidnaped her. Could life be any worse?

The question for Harry Potter was: Would he have any life at all?


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32

You're a Good Person

Once again, a mad scramble to locate Madam Pomfrey ensued upon Harry's return to his home. The faces of Arthur and Molly Weasley betrayed their astonishment upon being awakened in the middle of the night only to find Narcissa Malfoy captured and Harry deathly ill from the effects of a magical wolf bite. Pomfrey no longer resided at Hogwarts, which currently stood vacant except for Hagrid and a few house elves. Arthur and Molly knew exactly what to do however, and within half an hour, the healer raced up the stairs to Harry's room, which by now she knew well. She whipped off her black cloak and tossed it over the back of a chair.

"How long ago did the bite occur?" she urgently asked Ron and Hermione, who stood nervously by Harry's bed, each with a chunk of chocolate in their hand to relieve the effects of the dementors. They had removed their jackets and gloves but remained in their black jeans and shirts, their faces still rosy from the cold mountain weather in Scotland.

The young wizard lay unconscious but breathing well enough, his face pale in the lamp light. Ginny tensely sat at the foot of the bed, still in her blue night clothes, her hair unbrushed and looking something like Hermione's. The younger witch had been filled in by her brother and friend as to what had happened. The thought of the dementors chilled her to the bone.

"We don't know for sure; he never had a chance to tell us, but I think within the last three or four hours," Hermione explained, "We can't be any more specific than that. He was conscious until about forty-five minutes ago." Madam Pomfrey had already opened a vial of a purple potion.

"For his sake, I hope you are correct. If fewer than six hours have passed, we should be able to treat the bite with no lasting consequences." She immediately poured some of the potion on the puncture wounds on Harry's left arm, the holes bubbling with blue foam when the mixture combined with the wolf venom. "That will do for the external wound," the healer explained, "but the internal damage is what really matters. Mr. Potter will not be pleased when I pour this down his throat. It is an especially unpleasant potion. Please assist me in holding him down."

Ron grabbed one arm and the girls the other, while Madam Pomfrey propped her patient's head on a pillow. She then expertly opened his mouth, tilted his chin back to the perfect angle, and poured the remainder of the vial down his throat. She immediately jumped back, and with good reason. Harry awoke from the horrible taste of the medicine, like tree bark and dirt.

"ARRGH," he yelled, contorting his face as the potion traveled down his esophagus. He began to cough so hard that his stomach convulsed. His three friends held him as best they could, while he thrashed about, trying to comfort him, but the convulsions lasted for more than a minute.

Finally as he regained control of his abdominal muscles, he managed to croak, "What was that?"

"I am sorry, Mr. Potter," Pomfrey informed him in her business voice, "but this is the only treatment for wolf bites. It appears that we have begun the treatment quickly enough, but I must warn you that the treatment is most unpleasant. You will need to drink a vial of this potion twice per day for a week, in the morning and evening, in order to remove the venom completely. The good news is that I expect a full recovery." The healer failed to smile at her most frequent patient.

"Are you sure death isn't better than having to drink that stuff for a week?" Harry complained, trying to get the taste out of his mouth, "Can somebody get me a glass of water." His voice sounded weak, but clearly he had his wits about him. Immediately Dobby, who had been standing unnoticed in the corner of the room, sprung forward with the water, which Harry accepted with gratitude. He looked at his onlookers for a moment, but began to feel sleepy, an effect of the potion.

"Where is she?" he slowly asked.

Arthur answered, "The Order has her for now. We'll make her available to you if you need to question her."

"All right." mumbled Harry, which were his last words before he dropped into a deep and restful sleep. Pomfrey nodded in satisfaction and then turned to Dobby, who everyone could see had taken charge of Harry's care and well-being.

"The potions will be on the table over here. Mr. Potter MUST drink them all. He will not wish to. But understand that he will have lasting internal damage if he should fail to complete the treatment. The next dose should be taken in about twelve hours. He will sleep for several hours each time he takes a dose."

Dobby nodded his understanding with a look of determination which left no doubt that Harry WOULD be drinking the potions whether he liked it or not. After a few moments, the adults left the room, leaving Ron, Ginny, Hermione and Dobby beside Harry's bed. Dobby checked on Harry one last time, waiving his hand over him for some reason, perhaps an elvish charm of some sort, and then disappeared. Issamir, however, had reemerged from his hiding spot, and slowly slid along Harry's left arm and up to his chest, where he coiled himself, looking defiantly at the humans mutely witnessing the odd behavior.

"Why is the snake doing that?" Ginny asked the others, not appreciating the fact that a reptile had claimed some sort of right over Harry.

Hermione looked on the scene thoughtfully and replied, "Serpents are said to be extremely loyal to a wizard when the wizard has saved its life. Magical wolves and snakes are mortal enemies (we learned that in third year), so my guess is that the wolf was going to kill the snake, Harry left the snake to protect it, and this is what happened. It would be like Harry to do that." The others nodded their agreement, and stood silently for minute.

Finally Ron's face creased with determination, and he had made a decision.

"Look, Harry's going to be laid up for a week, but that doesn't mean that we can't do some things ourselves. We have Mrs. Malfoy now. The Order will let us question her, and she can tell us where the Hogwarts medal is, maybe even lead us to it. We were pretty much useless at that bloody castle, and it's about time we did something to earn our keep." His face had reddened with embarrassment when he realized that once again Harry had to bail them out. Hermione nodded her agreement vigorously.

"You're absolutely right, Ron, and we're going to get started today, just as soon as its light."

"Basically we convinced her that she had no reason not to cooperate with us. She had already told you where the medal is anyway, so she had no reason not to tell us too. Took us right to it, and there it is." Ron pointed at the framed Hogwarts Medal which he had just placed on the table.

Three days had passed since returning from McNaughton Castle, and Harry's condition had improved considerably, but the need to take the vile potion for an entire week caused him to sleep about fourteen hours per day. He happily sat up in his bed during one of his waking moments, with an hour or two before Dobby would be back to ensure that his master completely swallowed his next dose, making this one of the least enjoyable weeks of Harry's life.

"Let me see it," he requested.

Ron handed the framed medal to his friend. Harry took a good look at it: the last horcrux. He would not be able to attack this one for awhile, he knew, but he could not help but shiver with the thought of it. Would it be as bad as Slytherin's locket? Running his hand above the medal, he sensed the telltale aura of the horcrux. It was the real thing.

He handed it back to Ron, commenting, "I don't even want to think about it now."

"You shouldn't, Harry, you have to get better first," Hermione admonished him, "We're not going to leave the medal in your room, just because knowing you, you'll put it on in the middle of the night when we're asleep." She smiled while saying this, but she meant every word.

"Fine," Harry laughed, "Put it under your pillow if you want."

The four friends lapsed into momentary silence, allowing Ginny to gush, "I can't believe you three really did it. Capturing Mrs. Malfoy right out of the castle. It's just amazing." Her eyes shone with admiration for her brother and friends.

By now, Harry had provided the basic play by play of that evening, but he had not felt up to discussing the ramifications of it all.

"I've been wondering something, Harry," Hermione commented, taking the opportunity provided by Ginny, "Why did you say those things to Lucius Malfoy but then modified his memory? He won't remember anything, so he can't tell Voldemort what you said." Harry looked gravely at her, wishing that he had not spoken about that.

For a long time he remained silent staring at the wall next to the door, but finally he mumbled just two words, "Bertha Jorkins."

At first his friends glanced at each other in confusion, until Ron and Hermione both understood at the same time.

Ron could only utter one word: "Wow!"

Ginny knew nothing of the Bertha Jorkins story and said so. Harry appeared to have no intention of explaining, so Hermione took it upon herself.

"Bertha Jorkins was a witch who worked at the ministry a few years ago. Barty Crouch, Sr. modified her memory one time, so that she would forget a lot of things that he didn't want her to know. Peter Pettigrew happened upon her in Europe after he had found Voldemort among the rats in Albania. Voldemort was able to break the memory charm and learn that information. That was a big reason why the whole thing with Cedric Diggory happened."

"But how did he do that?" the younger friend asked, not reading between the lines.

Ron made it plain for his sister, "Vol . . . Voldemort broke the charm viciously, driving her insane. Then he killed her."

Ginny's mouth fell agape as she realized what Harry had done. Lucius Malfoy would be subjected to the same process until Voldemort could break the charm, at which time all Voldemort would discover would be a taunt from Harry. Malfoy's mind would be destroyed, and his body discarded. She looked at Harry with narrowed eyes, not realizing that the young man could be capable of such a thing. To his right, Harry glimpsed Hermione, whose eyes had opened wide in a stunned expression.

Harry himself had mulled over his actions ceaselessly in his waking hours. Why had he done it? Though a spur of the moment decision, but he knew exactly what he was doing. He willingly sentenced Lucius Malfoy to a slow and painful death.

"This is a war," he tried to convince himself, "People are not nice in wars. They do things that otherwise they would not do. This was an effective way to get at Voldemort, to cause him worry. Malfoy would not have treated me any better." To which he answered himself, "You have sunk to his level."

He felt the penetrating eyes of the two girls on him, so he threw his head back on his pillow and closed his eyes.

Finally he explained in a strained monotone, "I don't know why I did it. I just did. It happened so fast, and wizards were right outside the door. I didn't think it through. Now as I look back, I wish I hadn't done it. It would have been better just to kill him, but it's too late now." Harry kept his eyes closed, not daring to experience the disappointment in the eyes of the most important people in his life. He had let them down.

The friends stood in an uncomfortable silence, and in Harry's mind, he imagined that they shook their heads in disgust. Finally Harry felt someone sit on the bed beside him, his hand lifted by a girl's hand he knew to be Hermione's. Her thumb entwined with his, and she held his hand with both of hers.

She spoke slowly and carefully, "I'm not going to condemn you, Harry. We weren't there. We didn't have to go through what you did. We weren't bitten by a wolf. We didn't possess a snake for hours. You did all of that. Maybe what you did was wrong, but I'm not going to blame you. I can't blame you, because I was not in your shoes. You were under tremendous stress, and you just acted. I understand why you did it. Don't think that I think any less of you, because I don't. I've never admired you more for what you did in that castle, and for saving us from the dementors. Again."

Ron placed his hand on Harry's shoulder, and echoed Hermione's remarks, "She's right, mate. Who knows what any of us would have done in the same situation? I might have killed the git right on the spot. You're a good person, Harry. This doesn't change anything."

Harry kept his eyes tightly shut when he felt Ginny grasp his other hand, softly saying, "They're right, Harry. I know I looked shocked for a minute, but now I understand. You are still the best and kindest person I know."

A single tear squeezed out of each of Harry's eyes as he shut his eyes even tighter trying to suppress his emotions. He had intentionally sent a man to a tortuous death. He knew what he was doing. How could they just wave it off like that? An involuntary sob escaped his lips, as another tear followed the trace of the first. Hermione instinctively released his hand and lay down on her side, sliding one arm under Harry's head and wrapping the other around his back. She pulled Harry's head to her shoulder and let him cry softly. Ginny slid in behind Harry and ran her fingers through his black hair, while Ron looked on with a brick in his stomach. They stayed that way for a long time.

"Looks like it is healing well, Harry," Professor Dumbledore opined as he viewed the marks on Harry's arm. Harry had just finished his potion therapy and felt almost back to normal. Another four or five days, according to Madam Pomfrey, and he would be one hundred percent.

Dumbledore sat transfixed as Harry related the story, shaking his head at times in astonishment.

When the young wizard completed the tale, the old man clapped his hands once and exclaimed, "Quite an adventure, Harry. May you not have to suffer another!"

"I'll not disagree with you there, Professor," Harry responded in a monotone. The old man eyed Harry intensely and could tell that something still bothered his protege.

He subtly inquired, "Is there any thing else you wanted to tell me?"

Harry had not intended to mention anything about it, but for some reason, he felt compelled to relate the entire Lucius Malfoy incident, only just containing his emotions. Dumbledore gazed upon the teen severely, but when Harry finished, he remained silent for a good time. Harry again felt that he had let an important person down, and sat with his eyes focused on the carpet between his feet. Finally Dumbledore repositioned himself and reached out to Harry's shoulder.

"Look at me, Harry." The young man reluctantly lifted his eyes into the ancient face. "You may have noticed, Harry, that in all of the stories I have told you over the past months, I have never related to you my dealings with Grindelwald. Have you ever wondered why?" Harry nodded. "Well, I do not plan to do so today either. As you know, you and I have been compared often, one of the similarities being my so-called defeat of Grindelwald half a century ago. It is not a time I wish to dwell on, Harry, for many reasons."

By now Harry had controlled his emotions, consumed by curiosity as to what Dumbledore would teach him, for he knew that another of his valuable lessons had begun. But the frail man paused for a long time, the fingers of both of this hands touching his short white goatee. Harry began to wonder whether he intended to continue at all.

Finally Dumbledore pressed ahead, "I have never divulged this to anyone, Harry, and I would appreciate that you never tell another soul. Not even Mr. Weasley or Miss Granger." Harry nodded his agreement, but the professor again paused before speaking.

"I once tortured a man to obtain information. I applied extremely painful hexes and curses on the man for at least an hour. The man screamed from my treatment, and in the end he yielded the information." Dumbledore's voice quavered while he spoke, the only time Harry could ever remember him so emotionally troubled. "Time was at a premium, and I had no opportunity to obtain veritaserum, an extremely rare and difficult potion to obtain in those years. The man was an accomplished occlumans such that legilimancy proved useless. As it turned out, the information proved to be of minimal importance. When I released the man back to the enemy forces, I knew that he would be killed for having cracked under my pressure. I sent him to his death, and in fact I learned that he had been brutally killed not even a week later." He had Harry's rapt attention now, and the young man hung on every word. Dumbledore breathed in deeply but had mastered his earlier disquiet.

"I suffered for this, Harry. In my own way, I suffered almost as much as the unfortunate victim." Dumbledore's eyes glazed slightly as he searched the depths of his memory. "For months I attempted to justify my actions, but in the end I realized that no justification existed. Only years later did I come to terms with it. I hoped that the good which I accomplished in my 'Grindelwald years' outweighed the bad; I believe it to be so."

"Thus you will see, Harry, that I will not judge you. The stress of war causes the best of men to act irrationally and improperly." The professor had redirected his attention to the young man seated to his right, whose eyes looked right through the old man's face. "I will not attempt to justify your actions, nor do I believe that you wish me to. What you must understand, Harry, and this is of greatest importance, is that you are still the person you were before that day. Just moments after this act, you saved the lives of your two best friends. Just as the worst of murderers may still perform acts of kindness, the best of men may still commit acts of cruelty. Life is not black and white; it is full of colors and complexity. You must learn from your actions, just as I never committed the act of torture again, but you also must put it behind you."

Harry remained silent for a long time, and Dumbledore did not interrupt his thoughts.

Finally the young wizard softly responded, "Thank you, Professor. That helps me a lot, knowing it isn't just me. My friends have not turned their backs on me and neither have you. I feel like I need to put it behind me, but it will take some time."

"That it will, Harry, and that is to be expected. But we must move on. Have you acquired the medal."

"Yes. Ron and Hermione forced Mrs. Malfoy to take them right to it. The medal is at my house right now."

"If it is acceptable to you, Harry, I would like you to bring the medal here so that I can study it before you attempt to destroy it. Would you do that for me?"

"Sure," Harry shrugged, "no reason not to. I'm not ready to take it on yet."

**YOU KNOW WHO SUFFERS LOSSES**

The Daily Prophet has learned that He Who Must Not Be Named recently lost several trusted servants, including his right-hand man, Lucius Malfoy. While facts cannot be verified to the Prophet's standards in normal times, several sources have reported that Malfoy, well-known to our readers as a confidant of former Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge, was executed at You Know Who's orders, and perhaps at his own hand. The reasons for this action are not yet known.

More surprising, Malfoy's wife, Narcissa Malfoy, is missing and believed to have been kidnaped by resistance forces. Her current location is unknown, and the dark lord is rumored to be furious as a result. This follows the earlier report, which the Prophet has not yet been able to verify, that the Malfoys' only child, Draco Malfoy, was killed a few weeks ago.

Resistance forces also have captured or killed at least a dozen less well-known death eaters. Nevertheless the leaders of the resistance, who for obvious reasons wish to remain anonymous, emphasize that their successes in no way have affected You Know Who's ability to attack, and further instances of the dark mark have been reported throughout Britain. Lamentably, the Prophet lacks the resources at this time to report such attacks. All witches and wizards are urged to remain extremely vigilant in all activities, as has been repeatedly stressed in these pages.

"I guess that's what passes for good news nowadays," Harry commented as he handed the thin newspaper back to Hermione. The four friends sat around the kitchen table even though they had finished breakfast long before. Physically Harry felt fine again, but his nerves frayed as he realized that soon he must attempt to destroy the final horcrux.

"It's not much," Ron agreed, "but at least it's something. My dad says the Order has been able to learn quite a bit from Mrs. Malfoy, but she wasn't aware of You Know . . . , Voldemort's plans. The Order has been able to capture several death eaters and stop a few attacks. Still it's a drop in the bucket."

"Look, mates. We have to move on," Harry decided, "I'm fine now, and we can't put this off forever. But I promised that I would take the medal to the man that I've been seeing. He wants to check it out for some reason, and so far he's been extremely helpful to me, so I told him I would take it there. I'll go over this afternoon and should be back in the evening. Tomorrow we'll do it."

The three friends stared nervously at their leader. Hermione wanted to convince Harry to wait longer, but she remained silent. Madam Pomfrey had pronounced Harry completely recovered, and to be safe he had waited several more days to regain all of his strength. No reason to delay further existed.

"OK, Harry. I just wish we could put it off forever."

Harry nodded, "Me too."

Later that day, Professor Dumbledore carefully examined the Hogwarts medal, still in its frame. He waved his good hand repeatedly above the horcrux, muttering to himself. Harry could not help but notice that Dumbledore had dressed in his finest robes. As he rarely left his small muggle apartment, Harry normally saw the old man in a common house robe. In fact, Harry wondered how he had these dress robes in the first place. Winky must have fetched them. Given Dumbledore's concentration on the subject at hand, Harry refrained from asking questions.

Satisfied with what he learned so far, Dumbledore next removed the cardboard backing from the frame and carefully held the thick silver chain from which the medal hung. He held it high for both of them to view.

"Do you think it will be like the locket?" Harry asked with trepidation.

"There is no way to know, of course, but perhaps not. Each horcrux seems to have its own character. The locket seemed to be released in a sudden burst when it was opened," Dumbledore opined as he stared intently at Gryffindor's image. "The medal cannot be opened, so my guess is that the horcrux will enter more slowly. Unfortunately there will only be one way for me to find out."

"For YOU to find out?" Harry asked in a burst, "You mean for me to find out. I'll have to do it."

"Actually, Harry, we are both correct, for I am going to fight the horcrux first and then you will finish it off. I think this will be a most effective way to deal with it."

Harry jumped to his feet, exclaiming, "But sir, with all due respect, you are in no condition to battle a horcrux. It would be too much for you." Harry paused a moment before finishing, "It will kill you." He spoke these final words slowly, as the realization of what Dumbledore had in mind sunk in. Albus Dumbledore gazed serenely at Harry Potter, noting the changed expression on the young man's face.

"That almost certainly will be the end result, Harry. But I am confident that I will be able to damage the horcrux substantially before I expire. If I am correct, and I am quite certain that I am, the weakened horcrux will reenter the medal. At that point, you will put the medal on your chest, and given your youth and power, you will be able to destroy it quickly and with a minimum of ill effects."

"No, sir! I will not let you do this!" Harry insisted, pacing rapidly across the floor of the small sitting room, "I can do it alone. I've destroyed the diary, the cup, the locket and Nagini. You don't have to do it!" His voice pleaded, but one look at the old man and he knew that Dumbledore's mind would not be changed.

"Sit down, Harry," the professor requested calmly. Harry did not move for several moments, but reluctantly he sat on the sofa so that Dumbledore would continue. "I have thought this through thoroughly. What you do not understand, my dear friend, is that my death is near. As I sit here, my body is nearly consumed by various cancers, a result of the potion in the cave and preexisting conditions. These cancers are not treatable, and I would not treat them if I could. My death is one or two weeks away at the most, perhaps days."

Harry eyes widened in shock, for while he knew the professor's condition had deteriorated, he felt that his death still would not occur for a few months. His death would always be a few months away.

"This is how I want to die, Harry. This will be my last act of service to the magical world. By weakening the horcrux, I will save you the severe price which you have paid in the past. It is all about you now, Harry. In my hand rests the final horcrux. When you have destroyed it, Voldemort will be mortal, able to die. But he remains an extremely dangerous foe, and you must not be weakened by the task of destroying this horcrux."

"But, but," Harry sputtered desperately, "You don't have to do it now. There's so much I don't know. So much I want to ask you."

Dumbledore smiled kindly; "What would you like to know?"

"Well, everything!" was the best Harry could express, "Such as, how did you do all those things at the Ministry against Voldemort. I mean, making the statues block his spells, and that molten . . . molten whatever that stuff was. All of that."

"Do you think that is how you will defeat Voldemort, Harry?"

"No, I don't. But I'd like to know anyway. It could be helpful to me, but that's not why I ask. I just want to know. Curiosity." Harry thought he sounded dim, but words did not form in his brain. Again the old man smiled.

"If that is your reason, Harry, then I am happy to show you all that I can. I planned on putting this medal on tonight, but I see no reason why we cannot delay until tomorrow night. Ask me anything and everything, and I will do my best to explain."

Harry smiled weakly. At least Dumbledore would not die NOW. Tomorrow did not seem much better, but the young man determined to mine the old man for as much knowledge as he could. Finally he reluctantly surrendered to Dumbledore's plan.

"OK, sir, you have made up your mind, and I must respect it." Harry and Dumbledore stared at each other for several seconds, each not knowing what to do now. Finally Harry managed to ask, "So how did you do those things at the Ministry?"

Hours passed late into the evening as Professor Dumbledore showed Harry advanced magic beyond description. He demonstrated for Harry how to do many incredible feats of magic, though because of his frailty he no longer could perform them himself. Harry, however, could do almost everything with a bit of coaching from the master, transfigurations, complicated and unusual spells, and conjuring.

At nearly midnight, Dumbledore yawned and informed Harry, "If I am to live another day, then I intend to enjoy my last night of sleep. Your friends will be worried about you, Harry. Now is time to return to your home. Come back tomorrow morning, and we will spend the day on these matters. At night, we will deal with the horcrux. I will not delay longer." He spoke these last words with sternness, implicitly instructing Harry not to attempt to talk him out of his decision.

Harry walked glumly up the stairs of Number 17 Grimmauld Place to his room. He knew that Ron, Hermione and Ginny would be waiting for him, probably in the room the girls shared. The door opened after he knocked on it, and the three had spread about the room. Still in his cloths, Ron had fallen asleep on Ginny's bed, forcing the red head to Hermione's, where the two had been chatting quietly. They clearly had showered and prepared for bed, each wearing comfortably loose t-shirts as their pajamas, showing an ample portion of their legs. Harry did not notice.

"How did it go?" asked Ginny, pulling the boy by the hand to Hermione's bed. Ron did not stir.

"Pretty well," Harry responded quietly and as casually as he could, "He thinks that there may be a way to weaken the horcrux before I have to put it on. We're going to work on it tomorrow at his flat, then I'll decide when I want to do it. Maybe tomorrow night." Both girls knew Harry's moods well, and they could see that something bothered him.

Hermione made room for Harry on the bed and asked, "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

"Nothing is wrong," he answered untruthfully while running a hand through his unruly black locks, "It's just getting near the end. I don't know how much longer before I have to face him. Soon, probably."

"We'll take care of the horcrux first, Harry. One step at a time. We'll deal with the rest of it afterwards." Harry just nodded his head.


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33

Only One More to Go

Harry took another bite of pizza as Professor Dumbledore sipped on his favorite Cabernet. A glass sat in front of Harry as well, though he still had not developed a taste for the red wine. Studiously they had avoided discussing the events planned for the evening, instead discussing extremely advanced magic. When he first arrived in the morning, Harry could not think of what to ask the great wizard, but once they started, one topic led to another. They discussed advanced transfigurations, conjuring, how the wards at Hogwarts functioned, and other magic that did not neatly fit into any category. While chewing his food, Harry managed to ask another question.

"How do you move all the tables of the Great Hall just by clapping your hands? I've seen you do that many times, and you aren't even touching your wand."

Dumbledore wiped his mouth with a napkin and smiled, "Actually I am sure you are capable of wide-scale magic, Harry. It does require a great deal of magical power, but if you have it, such magic is not especially difficult. I'll show you once we've finished our meal."

A few minutes later, Harry helped the frail man stand, and they moved between the small kitchen and living room of the flat.

"Now, Harry, when we use a wand, our magic is directed to a narrow area, and it is almost impossible to perform a spell which can affect all of the contents of a room. However, magic can also be channeled through a clap of the hands, and will affect a wide area. Of course, the usefulness of such wide-scale magic is limited, as even for a powerful wizard it is impossible to direct sufficient power at a single object to perform a charm or spell on it. But it is extremely useful when the need is to rearrange a general area."

Harry understood well enough, and somewhere or other he recalled having read about wide-scale magic, though he knew it did not constitute a part of the Hogwarts curriculum.

"Look at the furniture in this room, Harry. Now form an image in your mind of how you wish to rearrange it. Make it easy at first. Simply place all of the furniture on the opposite walls. Do you have that image in your mind? Good. Now the key is to focus that image as a spell - a photographic spell rather than a verbal spell. It may take you a few tries, but once you get the hang of it, you will find it to be rather simple. Unfortunately in my current condition, I am not able to provide you with a demonstration."

"Sounds easy enough," Harry remarked, and in fact, compared to some of the other magic they had performed that morning and early afternoon, this seemed almost mundane. He stepped forward and after letting the image set in his mind, he clapped his hand. The sofa slid diagonally to the middle of the room, the glass coffee table smashed into bits against the opposite wall, books and knickknacks fell from the television cabinet, and in general he created a mess. Dumbledore laughed at the sight, and after a brief moment of disappointment, Harry chuckled as well.

"Let me try that again," Harry requested after repairing the broken glass with his wand. With the next clap, the furniture zoomed right back to where it had been originally. Three more claps, three different furniture arrangements, without a knickknack out of place. The mentor gazed proudly on his protege.

And so they spent a few more hours, at first in good humor, but as evening approached, the mood gradually darkened. Harry ran out of questions, and the laughter which had echoed freely in the morning ceased. An invisible dense fog filled the room.

"I think the time has come, Harry."

The young man wanted to disagree, to think of some reason for further delay, but he said nothing. Dumbledore struggled to rise from his chair, and Harry rushed over to support his elbow, then led him to the bedroom, where the frail wizard slowly removed his everyday black robe and, with Harry's help, donned the same exquisite robe that he wore the previous day. The silver-blue garment, made of Chinese silk, was the nicest article of clothing Harry had ever seen. Dumbledore had decided that he would exit this world in his Sunday finest.

Not a word had been exchanged during this process, and the weight in Harry's stomach grew heavier.

"Where do you want to do it, sir?" he asked quietly.

"Harry, could I ask you a favor?" The boy nodded. "For months I have been alone here, and I have not had anyone call me by my name, Albus. It may seem a trifle, but I have missed not hearing my name. In these final minutes, could you please use my given name."

The boy almost broke down on the spot, but he took a deep breath.

"I would be honored to, . . . Albus." Albus smiled.

"To answer your question, I think I would like to sit on my chair in the living room. I have become quite fond of it these past months." Slowly, Harry assisted Albus to his destination. The Hogwarts medal lay on the kitchen table, and Harry grabbed it, feeling the numbing aura. The temptation surged inside of him to throw the medal over his neck right then and there, before Dumbledore could do anything about it, but the protege could not deprive his mentor of his last wish.

To a young man of Harry's age, it is beyond understanding how an elderly person can face death in perfect peace. Death becomes an escape, a welcomed friend, not an unwanted stranger in the night. Harry knew, from the old man's good humor throughout the day, that no fear existed in Albus Dumbledore's heart. He looked forward to one last adventure on this earth, before beginning his first adventure in the next.

"A few words of instruction, Harry," Albus calmly explained after he made himself comfortable in the leather chair, "I have left an envelop on the cabinet by the television. Please deliver it to my landlord on the first floor. It contains my final rent and notice that the apartment will now be vacant. I have few possessions here; please dispose of them for me as you see fit. I have also performed the spell to transfer ownership of Winky to you. After she binds herself to you, she will be your slave. She has served me loyally and become dear to me. I know that you will treat her well, and at the appropriate time, you may free her or deal with her as you deem best." Harry merely nodded at the tying of loose ends.

"Please bury my body somewhere, Harry, wherever you deem it appropriate. Do not mark my grave, for I already have one at Hogwarts. No man needs more than one." Again, Harry could manage nothing more than nod.

The two friends gazed at each other in silence. More than friends; they were master and apprentice, and in a few moments the apprentice would become the master. Finally the old man in his elegant robe held out his hand, and Harry reluctantly placed the horcrux into it.

"I believe that I have said all there is to say, Harry. Read my letter to you again, when you return to your home. It still reflects my feelings."

"Sir. Albus, I just wanted to thank you . . . ." Harry's choked throat prevented any further words. He could not believe that soon he would witness the greatest wizard, indeed the greatest person that he had ever known die right before his eyes. And he would do nothing to stop it.

"I know, Harry. You need not speak. This is a much more difficult moment for you than for me. Leaving is always easier than being left behind. My time has come and gone, and there is little more that I can do for you. You have forgiven me for my mistakes, and for that I must thank you. I have said it before; I have learned more from you, Harry Potter, than from all the books in my library. Your burden is great, but your will is greater. I leave this world satisfied, confident in your ultimate victory. Our world will slowly recover until the next dark lord rises, as most surely will come to pass. But that will not be your battle."

Albus opened the silver chain with his hands, preparing to slip it over his head and around his neck.

"I will battle to the best of my ability. There is still some fight left in this old man. As soon as I am gone, put the medal around your neck and finish it off. May our love for each other serve to destroy it once and for all."

"Yes, sir," Harry could barely utter, "I understand, . . . Albus."

Albus Dumbledore smiled one last smile and calmly lowered Tom Riddle's Hogwarts medal over his head and around his neck, but keeping the medal itself a few inches away from his chest. The smile left his face, and determination came over him, a formidable man even in his frailty. Harry wanted to shout "Stop," but he stood frozen in the middle of the small living room of the small flat, watching helplessly as Albus carefully pressed the medal against his chest.

He closed his eyes and sunk back into the leather chair. Harry stopped breathing, expecting the professor to suffer immediate and terrible pain, as with the locket, but Dumbledore merely tensed slightly and seemed to enter a state of semi-consciousness.

After ten minutes of staring at the headmaster, Harry gradually emerged from his stupor. Dumbledore clearly had engaged the enemy, his face twitched and grimaced from time to time, but he did not appear to be in extreme pain. Harry sat on the sofa for a minute, but he could not sit still, and he began to pace the small flat, drinking a glass of water, and checking on the professor every few seconds. Maybe the old man would not die, he told himself; maybe he remained stronger than he thought; maybe this horcrux did not have the strength of the others.

In his heart, he knew better. This end had arrived. He would never be able to speak with Professor Albus Dumbledore again. A chapter in his life was ending, and he knew that this event held special importance. The mantle of responsibility had truly been handed over now. The old man would no longer be around to bail the teen out of tight spots. Of course, Harry thought this to be the case back in July, but so much had passed in the six months since Dumbledore's first death. Harry felt more prepared now. The burden no longed overwhelmed him. Tonight they would destroy the final horcrux. The final encounter would have to be arranged, but Harry would fight a mortal.

A groan of pain roused Harry from his musings, and immediately he rushed to the professor's side. The battle between the headmaster and the horcrux had entered its final phase. A louder groan followed, and Harry required all of his strength to restrain himself from ripping the medal out of Dumbledore's hand. The frail wizard's body convulsed, and the grimace on his face betrayed his pain. Sweat began to pour from Albus' face, trickling into his goatee. Harry knelt down next to the chair, his face only inches away from Dumbledore's. Rage surged through the young wizard. Tom Riddle had to die; this horcrux had to be destroyed in revenge. The tears could wait; Harry wanted to fight.

His wish came true, for just moments later, Dumbledore's body arched in agony, his mouth wide open in a silent scream. And then it ended. His body collapsed back into his chair, and his hand, which had been clutching the medal to his chest, released its grip and fell to his side. The horcrux lay loosely upon his chest, and his head tilted to the side.

Infuriated, Harry immediately lifted his mentor's head in order to lift the silver chain and medal. He let it hang from his hand for a moment while he readjusted the professor's limp body into a more natural position.

"I won't fail, sir," Harry promised through gritted teeth, and he walked to the sofa to sit. As quickly as he could, he slipped the chain around his head and pressed Tom Riddle's Hogwarts medal to his chest, anxious to confront Tom Riddle's soul.

At first, Harry felt nothing. Perhaps Dumbledore had destroyed the horcrux already before he died.. But soon he knew that not to be true, as a warmth slowly entered his chest, almost liquid in nature. Harry closed his eyes and focused his power on that area, his mind focused on the headmaster. The old man had weakened the horcrux tremendously. It could barely enter Harry's body, and the wizard knew that he could destroy it whenever he pleased.

"You didn't know you were getting two for the price of one, did you?" he taunted the partial soul, "Any last words before I put you out of your misery?"

"I have killed Albus Dumbledore," the horcrux managed to communicate, "That alone is worth my existence."

"But you are mistaken," Harry responded, "Albus Dumbledore has sacrificed himself. You did not kill him. He has sacrificed himself so that I may destroy you, as I have destroyed the others. Let it be known that Tom Riddle has failed."

"Destroy me you will, for I cannot counter your power. But Lord Voldemort will prevail, Harry Potter. Your victory is a temporary one only."

"We'll see about that, Tom," and Harry's power surged, the face of Albus Dumbledore in his mind, and within moments the horcrux vanished into nothingness. Riddle's diary, Slytherin's ring, Hufflepuff's Cup, Slytherin's locket, Nagini, and the Hogwarts medal. All destroyed. Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter had defeated them all. Now the fun could really begin.

First other matters needed attention. Harry removed the medal and opened his eyes. Seeing the limp body of his mentor in his favorite chair, the enormity of the situation finally began to sink in. Harry growled and threw the medal across the room, chipping the plaster of the opposite wall. He held his head in his hands, and for a minute could not move.

What should he do now? Firstly he needed to bury the body, as Dumbledore had requested. But where? Immediately, Harry realized where it must be. Inhaling deeply, he rose from the couch, donned his robe and cloak for warmth, placed the medal into his pocket, made sure he had his wand, and then gently grasped the professor's shoulder.

"I hope that this is OK, sir," he whispered a second before he turned and apparated to Godric's Hollow, reappearing in front of the graves of James and Lily Potter. Dumbledore's body, no longer supported by the chair, fell clumsily to the dirt, but Harry held on to prevent the corpse from hitting the ground too hard. He had not yet cried.

Surveying the top of the knoll, he chose an area of flat ground just above the heads of his parents' graves. With his wand, he excavated a deep grave.

"Six feet under should mean six feet under," he told himself, and he would not stop at anything less. Once satisfied, he knelt next to the corpse, and laid his hand on its shoulder.

"May I accomplish half as much as you have, sir," he pronounced, "and may I have half of your wisdom."

Late at night in December in Godric's Hollow is not a comfortable time or place, and Harry shivered in the biting breeze. Yet he did not hurry. Carefully, he levitated the headmaster's body and gently lowered it into the bottom of the grave. He pointed his wand at the arms and legs, adjusting them so that the body would lie perfectly. When finally satisfied, he stood over the grave and gazed one last time at the body of Albus Dumbledore. Contemplating the life of the man, Harry could only shake his head. This man had accomplished so much, in war and peace, politics and education. His words could change the mind of an entire nation or lend guidance to a mediocre student. He treated the problems of a second-year Hufflepuff with the same degree of importance as affairs of state. Harry promised himself that he would follow in that path.

Some final words seemed appropriate, but Harry could think of none, finally deciding that they had said all that needed to be said. With a flick of his wand, the mound of loose dirt to the right of the grave jumped into the air and filled the grave.

It was over. Harry could leave, but he remained for quite some time. A crescent moon provided a little light, and Harry sat cross-legged between his parents' graves, a few solitary lights flickering softly in the distance. He had not yet cried, as he had placed all of his concentration in his duty to bury the headmaster. James Potter, Lily Potter, and Albus Dumbledore. The common connection? Tom Riddle. He personally killed Harry's parents, and his soul killed the professor. Tom Riddle had to be stopped, and Harry now fully accepted that he would be the person to do it. Ever since he first learned of his destiny, he wished that it was not true, that he could somehow change it. Harry Potter now desired his destiny. A reluctant warrior he would be no longer.

Finally Harry moved back to the newly dug grave of Professor Dumbledore, and as he prepared to leave, the tears came. He let them flow freely, for he felt no shame. Dropping to his knees, he placed his hands on the loosely packed dirt, and he felt something. An energy seeped through the dirt and into his body. He felt strangely optimistic and protected, and he spread his hands apart and laid his stomach above the grave.

"Fill me up with whatever it is you have, Professor."

The process at Godric's Hollow had taken more than an hour, and finally, close to midnight, Harry knew he had to leave. He wiped the tears from his cheeks, smudging dirt in the process, and took a deep breath of the cold night air. As he prepared to disappear, he heard a beautiful song in the distance, coming closer. Immediately he recognized Fawkes' notes. Perhaps the phoenix had been watching for some time, but in any event it made itself known. The notes filled the young wizard with hope and confidence as the bird landed directly on top of the grave of its great friend, Albus Dumbledore.

"Hello, Fawkes," Harry spoke almost smiling. The phoenix stared directly into Harry's eyes, and somehow Harry seemed to know its thoughts.

"You will always be welcomed wherever I am, Fawkes." The phoenix bowed its head and trilled more notes of its song. Lifting off the ground, it hovered next to Harry, offering its tail feathers. Taking one last look around, Harry reached out to grab them.

"Take me home, Fawkes."

A flame unexpectedly materialized in the sitting room of Number 17, Grimmauld Place. The three worried teenagers waiting in the room jumped in shock to see their great friend, Harry Potter, appear out of the flames, holding the tail feathers of Fawkes. Harry let go and turned towards them, his three friends momentarily struck dumb. Before them stood a terrible sight. His hair, blown by the cold breeze, had tangled almost beyond description. Dirt stuck to his robe and cape, and his muddy face flushed from the chill. His red eyes betrayed his tears, and he could not hide his sadness.

"What's happened, Harry?" Hermione gasped, as she and Ginny rushed to his side. Ron approached as well, shocked at his best friend's appearance.

"Are you OK? Why are you so dirty?" asked Ginny, grabbing his arm..

Harry paused for a moment, not sure how much he should tell them. He had worked so hard to conceal Dumbledore's existence that he found it difficult to speak openly about it, yet he could no longer see any reason why he should not.

"We destroyed the horcrux," he replied simply, though deep sadness filled his voice..

"What?" the three friends jointly asked, but Harry raised his hand and motioned them to sit down.

"The horcrux has been destroyed, but at a great cost. The man that I have been seeing put it on first, and struggled with it. This man was old and sick, and he knew that fighting the horcrux would kill him. And it did. But he had damaged the horcrux, and when I put it on, I had no trouble finishing it off." From his trembling voice, his friends could feel the trauma that Harry had just experienced. They remained silent.

"Dobby," Harry called. The house elf appeared and jumped at the sight of his master. "I'm cold, Dobby, could you please bring us some tea or something hot."

"Certainly, Harry Potter," and with a wave of his hand a silver tray with teapot and four cups appeared.

"Make a fifth cup, Dobby, I would like you to hear this too." Dobby complied and poured the tea for the four teens and himself. Harry sipped his tea and immediately felt the warmth not only in his stomach but in his heart.  
He continued, "You knew the man that I have been seeing. You knew him very well. His name was Albus Dumbledore." Gasps of shock escaped the three friends and the house elf.

"But how, Harry?" Hermione asked, for once almost speechless.

"Snape did not kill him. Fawkes saved him before he hit the ground," he sighed, "It's a long story." And so Harry informed them of how Dumbledore survived and much of what Dumbledore and he had accomplished since his reappearance months ago, and especially the events of that day and evening. Tears streamed from his eyes as he told the tale, but tears fell from the eyes of all of them, Dobby included.

Pulling the Hogwarts medal out of his pocket, he held it up.

"It's dead now. There's only one more to go."

He wanted to go upstairs to take a long, hot shower, when a thought occurred to him.

"Winky, come here please." Harry had only briefly mentioned Winky in his retelling of the story. In a few moments, Winky appeared.

"Master called me?"

Hermione's shock at the unexpected appearance of the house elf was overcome by Winky referring to Harry as "master."

"Winky, you are a free elf. You do not need to call Harry or any wizard 'master.'"

"Actually, Hermione, she is not a free elf. I brought her here because she now belongs to me, or she will as soon as she binds herself to me. Dumbledore transferred ownership of her."

"But how could Dumbledore do that? Winky was not his slave."

"Yes she was. Dumbledore made her his slave, with her consent, during last term. He decided that Winky was so sad as a free elf, and showed so many self-destructive behaviors, that she would be happier as a slave. And in fact that turned out to be the case. Without Winky, Professor Dumbledore would have died months ago. He told me to take care of her, and whenever I think it is right, that I can free her."

Hermione could not respond, but her mouth had opened so wide that her tonsils could be seen. Harry turned to Winky, who had nervously moved next to Dobby.

"Winky, for the time being you will remain as my slave, at least until I have defeated Lord Voldemort, or I die in the attempt. You will live here with Dobby and help in my house. But I have certain rules. You are not to call me 'master.' I don't like it. Call me 'Harry,' or 'Harry Potter' like Dobby does. Secondly, you are not allowed to punish yourself for any purpose, even if you think you deserve it. Lastly, I give Dobby ten galleons each month, not as payment but as a gift. I will do the same for you, and you are ordered to accept it. Do you understand?"

Perhaps he had been a bit harsh with Winky in trying to demonstrate his kindness, but given the state of his emotions, he could do better.

Winky bowed slightly and in her high-pitched voice replied, "I understand, Harry Potter. Master Dumbledore told Winky that Harry Potter will be a good master and that Winky will be happy here. May I bind myself to you now, Harry Potter?"

"Yes you may, Winky," Harry responded with a tired smile. The tiny elf approached her new master, laying her hand on his arm. She waved her other arm while reciting spells in the elvish language. While she did this, Harry looked at his other slave. Time to come clean, Harry decided.

"Listen, mates, I have one more thing to tell you before I clean up." He paused and again glanced at Dobby, who merely nodded his head, consenting to Harry disclosing his status. "Dobby is also my slave. We did it back in July; it was Dobby's idea." Hermione immediately straightened her back, about to say something, but Harry cut her off. "Wait a minute, Hermione. Let me explain. Dobby was afraid that if I named him secret keeper for my house, he could be forced to divulge the secret if he was tortured by death eaters. As a free elf, he would be able to tell the secret, but as a slave, he would be unable to do so. I wanted to name Dobby my secret keeper, and Dobby wanted to do it too, but only if he could not be forced to talk. You know I didn't want to do it, but I felt that it was the best thing to do. Dobby and Winky are slaves in name only; I'll free them as soon as the war is over, or if I die."

"I do not want to be a free elf," Winky squeaked, "Please do not free me. If you die, please give me to a nice wizard."

Hermione could barely believe her ears, and opened her mouth to speak, only to close it when Harry shot her a stern look. He felt in no mood to discuss the matter any further; now he craved that shower.

Turning to Winky, he concluded, "We'll talk about it later, Winky. I want to do what you want to do, but I also think you should consider being a free elf. But for now, you will remain in my service. Dobby and you can decide what each of you want to do. There's plenty of work with all of the Weasleys here."

Finally Harry reached his destination - a steaming hot shower. The day had been one of those days that seemed like three. In the morning he had been laughing with Professor Dumbledore, only to bury him a few hours later. As the dirt washed off his body and swirled down the drain, he felt his old life being sucked down as well. He had been reborn. Harry Potter as the world knew him no longer existed. Long live the new Harry Potter.


	34. Chapter 34

CHAPTER 34

I'm in Charge Now.

**DEATH EATERS OCCUPY HOGWARTS**

Until recently, wards placed on the castle by the now deceased headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, had remained in place, preventing the forces of the dark lord from entering. For reasons not yet understood, the wards have disappeared, leaving the school grounds unprotected. The school had been closed shortly after Halloween following the attack on the Ministry by You Know Who's followers.

Unconfirmed reports indicate that the death eaters have abandoned the Ministry, though great care is being taken in reentering the structure. The current location of You Know Who himself is uncertain, but it is believed that he either is or soon will be at Hogwarts Castle. No reason for the transfer of the dark lord's forces is known.

**BATTLES BETWEEN DARK LORD AND RESISTANCE INTENSIFY**

As the Ministry in essence no longer exists and the location of Minister of Magic Scrimgeour is a closely guarded secret, former Aurors of the Ministry, as well as others who wish to resist the rising power of the dark lord's forces, have joined the informal resistance movement. The resistance forces have united under the name of The Order of the Phoenix, a formerly secret organization first established by You Know Who's most vocal enemy, Albus Dumbledore. According to a spokesperson of the Order, its numbers have increased dramatically as the wizarding community of Britain comes to terms with the rise of You Know Who.  
"Many in the magical community have fled," the spokesperson explained, "but those that remain have decided that they must fight. You cannot stay neutral in this war. Either you are with (You Know Who) or you are against him. If you are against him, then you have a duty to resist."

Most recently, the Order of the Phoenix intercepted a death eater unit which planned to attack a muggle shopping center, apparently solely for the purpose of creating terror. Order members learned of the planned attack and laid a trap, capturing the entire unit in a surprise ambush.

As the days in December rapidly passed, Harry learned both from the Daily Prophet and from Arthur Weasley that the battles between the Order and Voldemort's forces increased. The Order had essentially taken over publication of the Daily Prophet, using it as a propaganda voice. The articles reported on the Order's successes, but many failures occurred as well. It was true, however, that more and more witches and wizards joined the Order, realizing that they had to choose sides.

Voldemort also recruited, but after initial successes, he ran into difficulties. His tactics well known, many families fled the country, depriving the dark lord of wizards and witches that he could have coerced to join his forces. Those that remained quickly realized that they either had to join the Order of the Phoenix, flee or hide. The gross numbers now favored the Order, but many of its new recruits had no battle experience, and the Order distractedly spent much time providing basic training. Nevertheless, from the initial gloom following Dumbledore's "death" in June, a grim optimism emerged.

Remus Lupin rushed into the room where Kingsley Shacklebolt already waited. Harry, Ron and Hermione sat across the table in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place.

"Thank you for coming," Harry immediately began, shaking his former professor's hand, then placing a silencing charm on the door, "We have a lot to discuss."

The two leaders of the Order of the Phoenix seemed to have an air about them that did not exist a few months earlier. They were generals now, with a real army to command. They also had become extremely busy men, and arranging a meeting with them proved to be difficult.

"I'll get right to the point," Harry stated while returning to his seat, "Things are different now, and we can now tell you what before we could not." He had the attention of the two men, who no doubt had speculated for months about Harry's mission. "Do you know what a horcrux is?" Remus and Kingsley glanced at each other, trying their best to conceal their surprise.

"We know what it is," Remus replied, "though I can't say I know much."

"Well, as you know, a horcrux is the splitting of a soul and placing a portion into an object. It can only be created by committing a murder. Voldemort has done it."

Kingsley tried to understand the consequences of Harry's statement.

"So you are saying that Voldemort has sliced off a piece of his soul and cannot truly die, even if he's killed."

"Actually," Harry continued, "he created six horcruxes, but Professor Dumbledore and I have destroyed all of them. That is what we've been doing ever since he died." The men could not hide their astonishment.

"Did you say 'six,' Harry?" Remus sputtered, "Is that even possible?"

"It's possible, all right," Ron interjected, "not advisable, but possible."

"And you've been able to destroy them? All of them?" Remus asked, disbelief in his voice, "How did you do it?"

"It's a long story," Hermione remarked, "and I don't think we have time to explain it fully. Suffice it to say that Professor Dumbledore and Harry Potter are perhaps the only two wizards alive who had the power to destroy them. They almost killed Harry, but in the end he did it." Pride and admiration filled her voice.

"Hermione's right, it is a long story, and I'll be happy to tell it to you over tea some day, but now is not the time." Harry remained focused and businesslike, his hands folded in front of him on the table. "We destroyed the last horcrux earlier this month, and we've been trying to figure out what to do next. Voldemort is now mortal again, and we have to figure out how I am going to kill him."

"YOU are going to kill him?" Shacklebolt asked with raised eyebrows, speaking for he first time, "Surely you have done more than your part. We have many experienced and battle-tested aurors among our ranks. Wouldn't it make more sense for them to do it?"

"You would think so, yes, but there is something more that you do not know. The prophecy." The two men eyed the young man suspiciously.

"The record of the prophecy broke, did it not, when Sirius died?" Remus asked, not caring whether Harry might find reference to his godfather hurtful, "unless, . . . , unless somebody else heard it." Harry could see the cogs in Remus' mind turning.

"Dumbledore. The prophecy had been made in his presence, and he showed it to me in his pensieve. I am the one 'marked as his equal.' I am the one 'with power he knows not.' Neither of us can live while the other survives. The Prophet has it right for a change. As much as I hate the name, I am the Chosen One."

Nobody made a sound as the two men studied the three teens across the table. That they had accomplished extraordinary feats was beyond dispute. Preventing the destruction of Tower Bridge, capturing Severus Snape and Narcissa Malfoy, destroying horcruxes. These young people were formidable, especially the boy with the messy black hair and green eyes. Shacklebolt wondered whether their "battle-tested aurors" could have accomplished what these three had done, and he knew the answer. Not a chance.

Hermione broke the silence, "We can vouch for Harry and for the prophecy. Dumbledore told him and provided him with more information that only he knew. That's how we knew about the horcruxes. We had to keep it a secret; we could not take any chance that Voldemort might find out. But Harry has destroyed them all. One time he ended up in a coma for a week and another time he almost died, but he did it. Nobody else could have. Nobody else can kill Voldemort."

"Why are you telling us now?" Kingsley inquired.

Ron explained, "The horcruxes are gone. Voldemort is now mortal, but Harry still has to kill him. We have been talking about our options for days now. It is time to cooperate with the Order, to put together a plan to allow Harry to get at Voldemort with a fair chance, not with a hundred death eaters around him. If we can get Harry and Voldemort alone, Harry can defeat him!"

The two men again looked unconvinced. Was Harry a special wizard? Certainly. Could he outduel one of the most feared dark lords in history? The young witch read their minds.

"Harry is one of the most powerful wizards in the world. You have not seen what he can do. Ron and I saw him produce a patronus that drove off at least two dozen dementors as easily as you could brush off a fly. We saw him in school mastering the most difficult seventh-year spells in minutes without even trying. Harry is the only one who can defeat him, but he needs our help. He has to have a fair chance."

Ron jumped in again, explaining, "We think it's a break for us that Voldemort has moved to Hogwarts. The three of us know our way around it like the back of our hand. Remus too. We also have the map. What we need is to develop a plan to isolate Harry and Voldemort."

"We're telling you about this now, because we need your help," Harry concluded, "You have much more experience in putting together a battle plan. I'm only going to have one chance, but if I'm successful, the war is over. Just like that. If I die, then the war must continue, but I am the only one who can stop him now."

Remus and Kingsley looked into each other's eyes, silently communicating. A moment later, Kingsley waved his wand and a rolled parchment appeared in the air. He grabbed it and spread a map of Hogwarts on the table.

Christmas Day almost reminded Harry of the Christmases he spent with the Dursleys on Privet Drive. Given that the wizarding world had shut down, no shopping trips to Diagon Alley could be arranged, and even a visit to a muggle mall would be too dangerous. No gifts this year. Other than a wonderful turkey supper, hugs and half-hearted wishes of "Happy Christmas," the day passed much the same as any other.

Fred and George joined them for the meal, adding some much needed levity to the normally somber house. Eyeing them in the sitting room afterwards, Harry remembered back to the summer when the twins brought their two female friends who took such an interest in Harry. Harry wished that the two girls, whose names he never remembered, had accompanied them. They seemed to enjoy themselves immensely, not taking anything or anyone seriously, and always having fun. And good looking to boot.

Not that Harry did not enjoy the view of the two young females who did occupy the house, though he noticed with disappointment that with the freezing weather outside, the pair dressed much more warmly than a month or two ago. Nevertheless, the two girls filled out their sweaters admirably, in Harry's opinion, though he had no one to whom he could confide his musings. Certainly he could not say anything to Ron, not about his sister and former girlfriend. As strange as it may seem for a pair of teenage boys, the topic of girls never arose in their conversations.

At least the tension among the four had eased. Ron and Hermione acted civilly enough, though Harry often caught Ron staring at her. Hermione did not seem to return the same interest, and in fact Harry often noticed both Ginny and Hermione stealing glances at himself. Whenever Harry caught them, they would immediately turn away, and Harry did not care enough to ask them why. Of all the things on his mind, this ranked near the bottom.

He did worry about Ginny, however. In the days since Dumbledore's death, the four friends had spent hours contemplating their next more, which ultimately ended with the meeting with Remus and Kingsley. Ginny often had deer-in-the-headlights eyes when they spoke openly of arranging a confrontation between Harry and Voldemort. She generally said little during these discussions, and Harry could not avoid the feeling that Ginny wanted to avoid the confrontation. The comments she did offer usually involved allowing the Order to take action first, to delay the final battle until a future date.

Harry would have none of that. He wanted to meet Voldemort yesterday, and in a sense he felt more relaxed than he had in months. One way or the other, his struggle soon would end. But his worries about Ginny increased. She was in over her head, and he mentally chastised himself that he had allowed her to join. He could never forgive himself if something happened to her, if she died, and Harry could not bring himself to think how Molly and Arthur would suffer if their youngest child, their only daughter, should be taken from them.

Of course, he most definitely did not want Hermione to die either, but for reasons he could not completely understand, he felt differently about her. She had always been one of them, right from the incident with the troll in first year. He could not succeed without her, and unavoidably she had to face danger. No doubt her parents would suffer her death just as much as Molly and Arthur, but Harry barely knew Mr. and Mrs. Granger. Rightly or wrongly, it did not feel the same.

All this thought allowed Harry to reach a conclusion: His death would cause less heartache than the death of Ron, Ginny or Hermione. He had no parents to mourn him, no brothers or sisters to miss him, no relatives who cared if he lived or died. True, his friends would mourn, but some suffering could not be avoided. And in the end, they would have their parents and relatives to comfort them and to help them forward with their lives. His friends had so much more to lose than he.

He would take Voldemort down, even if he had to go down with him.

The four teens migrated to the girls' room for additional Christmas night conversation, and despite the uncertainty of coming events, they enjoyed their time together. Finally Harry tired and bade the others good night, only to find that Ginny had followed him down the hallway towards his room.

"Can I talk to you for a minute, Harry?"

"Sure," Harry responded, opening the door of his bedroom.

The young witch paused uncomfortably, flicking her hair from her shoulders. She had allowed her red hair to grow a few inches longer than normal, and it now reached well below her neck. Harry preferred it a bit shorter but had not dared to express his opinion. Ginny stepped slowly towards the back of the room and finally turned around.

"I see you looking at me, Harry. I know you're disappointed with me. You think you made a bad decision when you let me join you three," she explained, her eyes directed at Harry's feet. Harry stood uncomfortably a couple of feet from the door and did not respond. If he had, he would have had to agree with her. The red head lifted her head, and suddenly defiance filled her eyes. She approached the young wizard and looked into his eyes.

"You're wrong, Harry! I'm strong enough and I'm brave enough. All I want is for you to give me a chance. I won't let you down."

Harry's green eyes stared back emotionlessly. _She's behind the times,_ he thought, _She doesn't realize that there is nothing more for her to do. It's all on my shoulders now._ He did not know how to respond.

"I'm not disappointed in you, Ginny, but I should not have let you join us. I've just needlessly exposed you to danger. You want to help, and I appreciate that, but it's late in the game now. Voldemort and I have spotted the snitch, and the rest of the game doesn't matter any more. The only important thing is who grabs the snitch. I have to get it first."

Ginny understood the Quidditch analogy and continued to stare into the eyes of her great friend. She noticed a difference in them, an acceptance, even relief, that had not existed just a few weeks ago.

"You may be right, Harry, but I want you to know that if I have an opportunity to help, I won't let you down. Maybe I'm not Hermione, but I'm a talented witch too. Don't keep underestimating me. When the time comes, I'll do whatever needs to be done. I'll do anything to help you." Harry could not help but be affected by the passion in her voice.

"I won't, Ginny. I won't underestimate you. You are talented, and you are brave too. If the opportunity arises, I'm sure you'll perform well under pressure. I just hope that there won't be any need for that." The witch stepped forward, and the two hugged briefly before bidding each other good night.

Harry lay in bed that night pondering his conversation with Ginny and all that had occurred over the previous days. Incredibly, he slept better these nights than he had in years. In a sense, he felt that he had already succeeded, no matter the outcome of his upcoming confrontation with Voldemort. By itself, the elimination of the horcruxes constituted an enormous success. Even if Voldemort should defeat him, Harry had rendered him a mortal, capable of being killed by anyone. The dark lord no longer could live forever. If nothing else, Voldemort would die a natural death, perhaps one hundred years from this day, but he would die nonetheless. Even if Harry failed in his final struggle, Voldemort had been greatly weakened and now faced a true opposition force. Ginny wanted to help, Ron and Hermione too, but with any luck, he no longer needed their assistance.

"The death eaters have retained the anti-apparation wards, but there do not appear to be any other protections. Even the anti-apparation ward only extends a hundred yards or so around the castle itself, as best we can tell. The forbidden forest is not affected at all, and we can move about it at will. We have not attempted to enter the castle, but we have had the exterior watched for several days, and there is virtually no activity outside. Occasionally a death eater will walk down towards Hagrid's cabin in order to apparate. The cabin is outside the restricted zone, though it appears that a couple of death eaters are there at all times as guards. We have approached the front gate under invisibility cloaks, and there no protections to it at all. You can walk right through."

The auror had completed his report to Remus in the Order's headquarters, an abandoned farm in central England. Harry, Ron and Hermione had been transported to the structure, which on the inside served as a busy war center, with some two dozen operatives rushing around. They had been taken to a "situation room" in which maps of various parts of Britain and British cities hung from the walls, and a huge diagram of Hogwarts lay spread out on the table.

"Do we know where Voldemort is located within the castle?" Remus asked abruptly.

"No. We have never seen him, and from our vantage points, we are not able to see inside. The next step would be to infiltrate the castle in some way. That would, of course, be extremely risky."

"Thank you, Poulter. You may leave." The three teens and Remus waited for the auror to leave and then turned their attention back to the map.

"Well, it will not be difficult to amass a force near the castle," Remus opined, "but we'd be moving blind. Somehow we need to get inside that castle unseen. Unfortunately the Marauders' Map only works if we are on the grounds."

"We might be able to sneak someone in through the secret passages," Ron considered, "but I don't know how much he could find out without getting caught. Do you think they know of the tunnels."

"I'm positive they do. Peter Pettigrew, my old friend is there, almost certainly. He knows that castle better than any of us, because he's seen it as a man and as a rat. Sneaking a man in will be almost impossible, but what other choice do we have? We need more information!"

The four stood silently for several moments until Harry realized that once again they were thinking too narrowly.

"Why does it have to be a man, or a woman? It could be a non-human. Maybe a house elf. Or Issamir, a snake. They fear the dark lord too, and they want to see him defeated." Remus perked up with Harry's comment.

"You may be on to something there, Harry. Unfortunately, Voldemort expelled all the house elves upon his arrival; didn't want the creatures there. I think he fears them, and with good reason. Certainly a snake could get in and then report to Harry, but the snake wouldn't be able to understand anything that's said."

"I could possess Issamir again. We're a good team. Or maybe somebody could possess a mouse or rat or something like that. Are there any animagi that could get in?"

"Of course!" exclaimed Hermione, "Rita Skeeter. She's an animagi. A beetle. She did it once. They'd never expect it. She could do it!"

Remus frowned at the mention of the gossipy reporter formerly with the Daily Prophet. She was a thoroughly unlikeable person, and Remus in fact detested her. Nevertheless, Hermione as usual made sense. There could be no better way to gather information, and personal feelings could be allowed no part in his decision making.

He bolted to the door and yelled at an aide, "Find Rita Skeeter and arrange a meeting as soon as possible. Not here. Someplace else. It's urgent."

"Let's talk, Tom. Why are you avoiding me?"

Every night, Harry entered the mind of Lord Voldemort. Every night, Voldemort immediately erected his block wall of Occlumancy. The dark lord would not even respond briefly. Harry had taken to taunting him before the dark lord blocked him out.

"I've missed you, Tom. Why don't you come around any more."

"You're hurting my feelings, Tom. I miss our little chats."

Was this doing any good? Harry had no idea, and he made sure not to mention his late-night forays to Hermione and the others. Probably they would not approve, but Harry wanted Voldemort to worry. In fact one of his last taunts had summed it up.

"Looks like I've turned the tables, Tom. I'm in charge now."

The young wizard did not delude himself. Voldemort may be worried, but he would not back down, and he remained an extremely dangerous man, mortal though he may be. At first, Harry tried to penetrate through the block wall, but Dumbledore had told him not to waste his effort. An accomplished occlumens, such as Voldemort, can block out any intrusion, no matter the strength of the intruding wizard. Yet Harry felt heartened by Voldemort's refusal to engage in mind to mind combat. Weeks earlier when they had done battle, Harry came out on top. He was so close now to finishing it all. Victory or death. Either alternative represented an end to his struggle. He was ready for either.

As Christmas came and went, the magical world had come to a standstill. All of the shops on Diagon Alley had closed, snow piled high in front of their doors. Any shopping for necessities had to be accomplished in muggle stores. Few that remained in the country dared leave their hiding spots for Christmas shopping. Minister Scrimgeour no longer made any public pronouncements, or at least the Order-operated Daily Prophet refused to print them. Nobody pretended that a Ministry existed any longer; the Order of the Phoenix had become the de facto government.

Rita Skeeter proved impossible to locate. Since she no longer had a job in London, she had fled the city like so many others, especially since she would receive no welcome from either side in the conflict. The Order dedicated what limited resources it had in the attempt to locate her, but they lost her trail. She probably had fled to the continent, they guessed, where she would be extremely difficult to locate. After nearly a week of searching, the Order had to face reality. Rita Skeeter could not be found.

"The problem remains," Remus concluded after filling in Harry and the rest as to the status of the search, "We need to gather intelligence from inside Hogwarts. We're putting together a team to consider our options. Basically none of the options that we've bounced around are very attractive."

Harry looked on impassively, but inside his stomach churned. This sitting around was excruciating, and he had a mind simply to walk right through the front gate at Hogwarts and in through the giant front doors of the castle. Maybe working with the Order had not been such a good idea, he pondered. If he had remained separate from the Order, he could have taken his own action, and almost certainly he would have done something by now. Something stupid maybe, but something nonetheless.

"Are many death eaters leaving the castle?" Hermione inquired.

"Not many, we only see a few per day. Yet they are continuing their attacks around the country. There has to be some other way in and out of the castle, but we haven't discovered it."

"Could they be using one of the tunnels and then apparating from Hogsmeade," Ron asked.

"We have all of the known tunnels watched at all times, in Honeydukes and the Shrieking Shack, but there has been no activity at all. They could have dug a tunnel somewhere else, just outside of the anti-apparation zone. We just don't know." Remus shook his head in frustration.

Though he had not yet spoken a word, Remus, Hermione, Ron and Ginny, who had been allowed in on this conversation, all looked at Harry, who sat uncomfortably in the overstuffed chair of his sitting room. Finally he offered an opinion.

"Well, if Tom doesn't want to let us in, maybe we need to force him to come out."

"How could we do that?" Ginny asked, afraid of the answer.

"I'll challenge him. Publicly. We can publish it in the Prophet every day; I'm sure he's reading it. Voldemort doesn't like to be shown up. If we embarrass him enough, he'll lose patience."

Harry expected Remus and his friends to criticize his plan as overly risky, but Remus looked thoughtfully at the young man.

"That's a possibility, Harry. We'll add that to our list. One way or the other, we have to do something."


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter 35

Are You Ready?

A nervous Hermione Granger set the Daily Prophet for December 31st on the table in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place. Several copies of the newspaper rustled while being read by others around the table, but Harry had not bothered. He knew the contents of the article because he largely wrote it.

Ginny disliked the uncomfortable silence around the table, where her parents, still in their morning robes, sat along with Fred and George, who had appeared the moment they saw Harry's public challenge to Lord Voldemort. They arrived without their usual humor. Life had taken a wrong turn for the twins. Their shop on Diagon Alley had to be closed, and they now spent all of their time working for the Order of the Phoenix. Admiration creased their faces as they greeted Harry, though at the same time they thought he had finally lost his sanity. Harry Potter had written his death sentence.

"He's not going to be happy about this," George remarked as he waved a hand at the Prophet. The twins dressed in subdued muggle clothing, necessary for their duties with the Order. They could not afford to stand out in a crowd, much to their displeasure. Harry had no idea how the twins served the Order, but the effect on their demeanor could be easily detected.

"That's the general idea," Harry responded simply, sitting at the table dressed in his favorite plain black t-shirt. He had convinced Remus and Kingsley as well as his own friends to proceed with the public challenge. No better plan could be devised. It made sense to goad Voldemort to leave the protection of the castle, which Voldemort had protected with dark wards of his own devise. Trying to infiltrate the castle remained too dangerous. The question on everyone's mind was: How would the dark lord react?

Finally Harry could not resist and picked up the latest edition.

You could not kill me when I was a baby; you could not kill me when I kept the Philosopher's Stone from you; you could not kill me in the Chamber of Secrets; you could not kill me in the graveyard; you could not kill me at the Ministry. You can't kill me, Tom. You disagree? Then let us find out once and for all.

Will you meet me for a fair duel? Never have you given me the courtesy of a fair fight, Tom. Are you afraid of me? You should be. I have 'the power you know not.' Why do you need your death eaters with you. Am I not but a boy? Are you not the greatest dark lord in history? I will meet you, both of us alone. Surely you do not doubt that you can kill a mere half-blood. Except I forgot, you are a half-blood too, aren't you Tom Riddle? Do your death-eater friends know that their leader's father was a muggle who was not even married to his mother? Do they know that you were raised by muggles in an orphanage? They do now, Tom.

Harry quickly scanned the rest of the article, which explained some of Harry's comments, for the public knew little of Voldemort's past. The Prophet also announced its new policy of refusing to euphemize Voldemort's name. No more "You Know Who" or "He Who Must Not Be Named." The young wizard sat uncomfortably at the table, the remains of his breakfast sitting before him. Hermione and Ginny gave him those worried stares again, and Harry had tired of it. Still, he could not find any reason to tell them to stop, and he could not blame them for their worry.

But Harry was beyond worry now. He remembered how he felt just six months earlier in his final days at 4 Privet Drive, like a boy half way up the ladder to a high diving board for the first time, wanting to turn around. Now he felt that he had just leapt off the board, no turning back. He simply wanted to finish the dive. The young wizard excused himself from the table.

While climbing the stairs back to his room, where he hoped for some time alone, his scar started to tingle. With each step the sensation became more noticeable, and Harry quickened his pace. By the time he reached his room, the pain intensified, and Harry knew that Voldemort had initiated an attack on Harry's mind. The teen's first reaction was to erect his ice wall to block out the invader, but he quickly discarded this prudent idea. Harry had been itching for a fight, and instead of fear, he felt excitement. Throwing himself on his bed, he closed his eyes and concentrated on his scar, which now seared with pain.

"You've come, Tom," Harry greeted his enemy, "I've been waiting for you." But he did not wait for an answer, instead invading Voldemort's mind violently, harshly bouncing around images in the dark lord's head in an attempt to cause as much pain as possible. It worked, but Voldemort immediately responded in kind, and unknown to Harry, he began screaming in pain. The other occupants of the house heard him and rushed up to the master bedroom.

By the time they arrived, however, Harry no longer showed any sign of pain, but he concentrated intensely, eyes tightly shut.

A stunned Ginny opened her mouth when Ron raised his hand to quiet her, whispering, "He's talking with You Know . . ., Voldemort."

"You are trying my patience, Potter. Your level of delusion is remarkable. I almost believe that you think you can kill me."

"Delusion? Which of us is deluded, Tom? How many times have you failed to kill me, a mere boy? Why do you think it will be any different now? I am more powerful than you know. This time you will not survive."

"You know nothing of what you speak," hissed the dark lord, "I cannot be killed. Only I have overcome death. I have forgotten more about magic than you will ever know, Potter. Your death will come easily."

"Then why have you avoided me? I am trying to give you the opportunity to finish me off. But you've never been one for a fair fight, have you? Let us end it once and for all, just you and me."

"You think I am a coward? I am not a coward, Harry Potter. You shall not see the new year. We shall meet tonight, alone. Where do you wish for your pitiful life to end?"

Harry instinctively knew the answer, "Let it end where it all started. At Godric's Hollow. Tonight at ten o'clock."

"Godric's Hollow? Yes, a fitting site. If you are a worthy opponent in our duel, which no doubt will be a short one, perhaps I will deign to bury you next to your parents. If not, I will feed your body to the spiders of the Forbidden Forest." In that instant, Voldemort vanished from Harry's mind.

Harry's scar continued to throb, but the pain diminished. Opening his eyes, he shivered in surprise to find a half dozen people in his room, as well as two house elves and a snake. None of them dared to speak, awaiting his words. His mouth prepared certain words, but then he paused, discarding what he almost uttered.

Instead he informed them, "Voldemort won't fight me. He did not accept. Not yet, anyway. 'Soon,' he said." Still nobody spoke for a while, but Harry felt that he had nothing more to say.

Finally Hermione, eyeing Harry appraisingly, asked, "Are you feeling OK, Harry? Did you know you were screaming?"

"Was I?" Harry commented casually, "I guess I would have been. It's quite painful to have Tom Riddle in your mind, but you can ask Tom how painful it is to have Harry Potter in his." His voice had transformed into a sneer, slightly frightening his companions. Again his friends stared, and more than ever Harry wanted to be alone. "I'm all right. Just let me have a lie down for an hour or so, and I'll be fine."  
Nobody could argue with the prudence of this idea, so in a moment the room had emptied. Immediately Harry's mind shifted into fifth gear. Tonight would be the night. Tonight he would in all probability die. Tonight he would meet his destiny.

For an hour, Harry thought more intensely than he had ever thought before. Since his last days with Dumbledore, Harry had developed an idea of what he had to do to kill Voldemort, of how he had to utilize "the power he knows not" and of his connection with the dark lord. The idea did not please him, and for days Harry tried to discount it, avoid it, rebut it. He could not. Everything pointed towards it, both his instincts and his intellect. This last hour of thought reinforced his belief. Nothing to do with Voldemort could ever be simple.

"Dobby!"

"Yes, Harry Potter. Do you need a potion for your head?"

"Listen Dobby. I order you not to tell anybody what I am about to tell you. Tonight, you will help me to kill Lord Voldemort. We are to duel at ten o'clock at Godric's Hollow. Each of us is supposed to arrive alone, but Voldemort will cheat. He is no longer human; he has no sense of fair play. I need you to come with me, not to be seen, but to do whatever you have to do to protect me from whomever or whatever Voldemort brings. If he brings death eaters, I want you to take them out. Kill them if you have to. Do you understand?"

Harry expected to see the typically nervous, hyper elf hop up and down with anxiety, but to his surprise, Dobby's eyes narrowed, and he remained calm.

"Nobody will harm Harry Potter. Dobby does not care about wizard laws any more. Dobby will do whatever Dobby must to protect Harry Potter."

"Thank you, Dobby. You must tell nobody, not even Winky." The elf nodded, to which Harry responded, "Sit down, Dobby. This is the plan. . . . ."

Before leaving his room, Harry reached into the bottom of his trunk to retrieve his Will. He had rewritten it slightly after Winky became his slave, giving her to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley with the admonition that she be treated with respect and kindness and that they promise to free her if she should ever request it. This compromise did not entirely satisfy Harry, but he could think of nothing better. He also added a statement to Dobby, advising him to agree to be employed by Hermione. Not many witches or wizards wished to employ a free elf, and Harry could not think of a better situation for Dobby. Hermione doubtlessly would protect the elf and treat him kindly.

One last thought occurred to the young wizard.

"Issamir," he hissed, waiting a moment for the snake to appear from under the bed, its favorite resting spot. "Tonight I will meet the snake wizard. Either I will kill him, or he will kill me. If I do not return, where do you wish to be taken? I will arrange for it." Issamir did not answer the question.

Instead it hissed, "Take me with you, Harry Potter. Place me in your pocket. I will leave the pocket when we arrive and observe, for I may be able to be of assistance to you. The snake wizard is said to be more snake than wizard. If you die, I will find my way. Do not worry about me further."

"He is still a wizard, Issamir, and a powerful one, but you are correct. Nagini's soul is within him, and I do not know how that has affected him. Perhaps it has changed the way he thinks."

"Serpents can be good or evil, Harry Potter, just as wizards. But we serpents can be cunning, even devious. You should expect the unexpected."

"That is the best advice I have heard in a long time, Issamir. I will take you with me, and I thank you for your friendship."

"And I thank you for saving my life, Harry Potter, for the wolf would have surely killed me. I will do whatever I can to save your life if given the opportunity."

"You have no debt to me. I had to save you to save myself. Any debt you believe you owe has been paid in full, for I have learned much from you in our conversations. I hope we may have more in the future."

Every time Harry did something that afternoon, he could not help but wonder if it would be the last time. Would this be the last time he lunched with his friends? Would this be the last game of wizard's chess he would play with Ron (understandably, Harry lost pitifully)? Would this be the last time he would see Ginny and her beautiful red hair? Hermione biting on her lower lip? He tried his best to act normally as the occupants of his house prepared for a New Year's Eve feast, and offered optimistic comments about the new year. But he could not fool Hermione.

By mid-afternoon, she sensed something, but she said nothing while others occupied the room. Her opportunity finally arrived late in the afternoon when Mrs. Weasley called for Ginny and Ron, leaving Hermione alone with Harry. The young wizard absentmindedly flipped the pages of an old spellbook, clearly distracted, not even realizing that the two Weasleys had departed. Hermione walked determinedly and knelt on one knee next to Harry's chair. She spoke softly to be sure that nobody overheard.

"What really happened, Harry? You didn't tell us the truth, did you?"

"Damn that woman!" Harry thought to himself, "Why can't I ever get anything by her?" What should he say? If he told the truth, she would want to come, and that might ruin everything. Voldemort might just apparate away if he sensed a trap. More importantly, there would be only one death tonight, Voldemort's or his own. Yet if he lied, Hermione would know and would keep an eye on him the rest of the night. Sooner or later she would figure it out.

"It's tonight. It all ends tonight." he whispered emotionlessly, "We are meeting at ten o'clock somewhere. I'm going alone. Don't ask me where it will be, because I won't tell you. Please don't tell anyone else."

He expected his friend to fly into a rage, or burst into tears, or at least attempt to convince him not to go. She did none of those things. Instead she asked a simple question.

"Are you ready?"

Harry's green eyes stared into Hermione's, and he honestly replied, "I am." Inside, her stomach churned, but her face remained calm.

"Everything you've done has been for this night." Hermione whispered fervently, "You will win, I know it! You are a great wizard, Harry Potter. Tonight is the night that you must believe it yourself." Harry nodded his head but remained silent. Their eyes remained locked together, looking deep inside each other. "Do you know what you are going to do?"

"I have an idea. We'll see if it works."

"Can I help?"

Harry nearly declined her offer, but realized that she could, now that she knew.

"Yes, you can," he accepted, "You can keep everyone away from me after 9:00 o'clock. I'm going to remove the anti-apparation wards from the house, I'm going to silence my room, and I'll apparate from there. Dobby is going with me to deal with whomever Tom brings, because I know he'll cheat. If he brings too many, I'll come right back and replace the wards. Don't let anybody know I'm gone. In a while I'm going to start acting like I'm ill, and I'll want to go to bed early."

"OK, Harry, I'll keep them away."

"Then after Ginny is asleep, get Ron and go into my room. You can tell Ron then. Wait for me. I don't want Ginny there. I don't want her to see me if . . . . if it doesn't end up in my favor. It may take a long time, or I may never return, but Dobby will come. If I come back, be careful. Who knows what will have happened." Harry paused for a moment, but added one more request: "Promise me you'll do what you have to do." She suppressed a gasp.

"I can't promise that, Harry. I don't think I can do that." Hermione finally broke the link with Harry's eyes, closing them tightly as if trying to avoid even the thought of what Harry meant.

"You'll have to, if it come to it. I'm only one life, Hermione. I don't want to die, but I'm ready. If that's what it takes to win the war, then you HAVE to do it. Mine would not be the first life to be lost in this struggle. But mine can be the last. You'll do it if you have to. Ron and you can do it."

At last, Hermione could not control her emotions, and tears began to stream down her cheeks. She did not wipe them away but renewed her contact with the boy's green eyes.

"Just remember, Harry, it's love that will win. Somehow, it's love. I don't know how or why, but that's what you have to use. Your love for all of us, and our love for you. Ginny's love. Ron's love. My love."

"I know," Harry nodded, a lump growing in his throat, "If I don't make it back, tell them that I love them. Look in my trunk. My Will is there. Tell everyone, the whole magical world, that I tried my best, and that I'm sorry."

The tears continued to fall, and Hermione grabbed Harry's hands, pulling him from the chair and into a tight embrace. They did not move for a long time.

Dobby, Winky and Mrs. Weasley had combined to prepare a wonderful New Year's Eve meal, except that Harry had never been fond of lamb. For his last meal, he would have preferred a baked ham, or even the pizza he shared with Dumbledore as his last meal. Nervous and anxious, he wished that 9 o'clock would arrive soon. Time seemed to stand still. Harry forced himself to enjoy the company of his friends, and he found himself smiling at odd moments.

When Ginny brushed her hair out of her eyes in her characteristic way, Harry smiled. When Hermione bit her lower lip, he smiled. When Ron shoveled food into his mouth, he smiled. When Mrs. Weasley ranted about the state of the Ministry, he smiled. When Mr. Weasley questioned Hermione about how movies are made, he smiled. Harry realized that virtually all of the people who meant most to him were seated around his kitchen table, all but one of them having no idea of what Harry must do. His stomach churned, but he smiled again.

After dinner they moved up to the sitting room, where the end-of-year conversation continued. Given the state of the world, there would be no New Years parties this year, and none of them planned to stay up to see in the new year. It most definitely had been an eventful year. Exactly one year ago, Harry sat in this same room with no idea of the events to come.

He learned about the horcruxes from Dumbledore and accompanied him to the cave by the ocean, only to see the old man "killed" by Professor Snape. His friends and he had destroyed all of the remaining horcruxes. Harry had died, if for only a moment. They captured Snape and Narcissa Malfoy. He killed Draco Malfoy and other death eaters, and he sentenced Lucius Malfoy to a tortuous death at the hands of Lord Voldemort. He kissed Ginny, and she became his girlfriend, if only for a month or two. He started out the year owning one house elf and now owned three. He witnessed Dumbledore's true death. It all made Harry's head spin.

"Is something wrong, Harry?" Ginny asked after eying her former boyfriend for some time.

"I'm fine," Harry responded, perhaps too quickly, "I'm just thinking about everything that's happened this year. When I look back, I can hardly believe it."

"You've done great things, Harry," Hermione averred, "and you'll do more. I'm sure of it!" Only Harry and she knew what she truly meant.

"We'll know soon enough, I suppose," Harry commented as casually as he could. He glanced at the clock and saw that 8:30 had finally arrived, the time the plan he had discussed with Dobby was to be put into effect.

"I'm not feeling especially well," Harry claimed with a slight wince, his hand on his stomach, "I think the lamb didn't agree with me. It's never been one of my favorites."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Harry," Mrs. Weasley apologized with a pained expression, "It was my idea. We so rarely have lamb nowadays; I thought it would be a special treat. Is there anything I can do?"

"Don't worry, Mrs. Weasley. I'm sure a good night's sleep is all I need. I think I'll take a shower and then turn in early. I'm a little tired from earlier in the day," Harry explained, referring to his mental joust with Voldemort.

"Of course, Harry, you do that. Let me know if there is anything you need. I can prepare a potion for your stomach if you like." Mrs. Weasley hovered over him with concern in her eyes.

"Thank you, but I think I'll be fine." Harry took a few steps towards the door, as the others wished him a good night. He turned to them and could not help expressing one last thing to them. "Thank you. And since this is the last day of the year, I just wanted to say how much I have appreciated everything that you have done for me, all of you. I don't know what I would do without you. You are all very special to me. Sometimes I may not show it, but tonight, when the year is ending and we don't know what the new year will bring, I wanted to make sure that you all know how much you mean to me." The others froze momentarily, surprised by Harry's sudden comment, and a moment later Harry concluded, "Happy New Year!" just before he strode rapidly through the door. He heard the corresponding "Happy New Year's" from the hallway.

Part of the plan in fact involved a shower, not for any tactical reason. Harry loved his showers, and he figured if he was doomed to meet his maker, he would at least be clean for the appointment. His nostalgia of the evening gradually faded away, and he began to concentrate on the task ahead.

He dressed warmly, for he knew the night air at Godric's Hollow on December 31st would be frigid. Dobby arrived at 9:15 as planned, having told the others that he would check on Harry. The house elf appeared poised but nervous, much like Harry, who flung a warm cape over his shoulders. Lastly, he placed several items into various pockets of his robe and cape. Satisfied that all was ready, Harry prepared to leave when the door burst open and Hermione burst through. She hugged Harry with a force he did not know she had.

Looking him directly in the eyes, she whispered, "You'll win, Harry. I know it!" She kissed him quickly on the lips and then turned around and ran back out before her emotions got the better of her. Harry stared at the door for several moments before turning his gaze to Dobby.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Yes, Harry Potter," Dobby replied, raising his hand and chanting something in the elvish language. "Dobby has placed a good-luck charm on you, Harry Potter. House elves are not allowed to place such a charm on wizards, but Dobby no longer cares about house elf laws. May we do our best, Harry Potter."

"That I can promise you, Dobby. I will do my best." He carefully placed Issamir into his pocket and disappeared.


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter 36

I Am a God

A cold breeze whipped across Godric's Hollow as Harry appeared out of nowhere, exactly in between the graves of his parents. As soon as he materialized, he dropped to his knees, wand thrust forward, ready to strike at any enemy lying in wait. Such caution proved to be unnecessary, as he found the hillock above his first home vacant. Quickly he scanned in a full circle around him with the illumination of a half moon rising on the horizon. Issamir noiselessly emerged from Harry's pocket, slid down his leg, and slithered towards the protection of a thicket.

Dobby had never been to Godric's Hollow, so he had to wait until Harry arrived before locating him in the peculiar manner of house elves. He appeared with a pop by Harry's side, but said nothing.

Harry softly instructed his slave, "Hide in the trees down there," pointing to his right, "Voldemort will probably try to hide a couple of his followers out of sight. They won't be expecting a house elf. Do whatever you have to do, but keep them away from me." Dobby nodded and disappeared.

Harry had arrived more than half an hour early, mostly for tactical reasons, but also to have the opportunity to visit the graves of Dumbledore and his parents one more time. Once he satisfied himself that nobody had yet arrived, he gazed down on the three graves.

"I may be joining you soon, mum and dad, but not if I can help it." As he did on his birthday, he knelt down and placed one hand on each of his parent's graves, and again he felt a warmth rise up within him, not as strongly as on July 31st, but he could feel it nonetheless. His spirits rose as the warmth reached his heart.

He had no time to enjoy it, however, as Harry jumped at the crack of an apparation, not close by but in the distance. He knelt down even lower and gripped his wand tight, ready for battle. Dobby would have heard that, he thought, for house elves have extremely sensitive ears; he would hear the next cracks too, for two more could be heard within fifteen seconds of the first, all in the trees and bushes below the hill on which Harry knelt. They could not see him from down below, he realized, so he remained in his crouch. Thinking quickly, Harry turned and disappeared and appeared in the same spot almost instantaneously, causing the characteristic crack. The death eaters would believe that he had just arrived (or so he hoped).

Rustling could be heard in the bushes, but Harry could not divide his attention. Where would Voldemort appear? By the ruins of the house or by the graves? Wherever, Harry determined that the duel would take place right where he stood, in the presence of James Potter, Lily Potter and Albus Dumbledore. He waited.

The moon rose a few more feet into the sky, and Harry's eyes fully adjusted to the darkness. He heard a noise from the trees below, what sounded like a falling body. A few moments later he felt his scar tingle, and he knew. His guest had arrived. Harry pointed his wand and crouched between the graves. He stopped breathing and concentrated on his ears. There! The sound of a soft crack down by the ruins. Twisting to his left, he could not see anything for a moment, but then the wind ruffled the cape of Voldemort, who also appeared to have located Harry. Footsteps could be heard as the dark lord shuffled up the hill where Harry crouched. The young wizard stood up, and pointed his wand towards the path. He heard more rustling in the bushes.

Minutes passed. Voldemort could not walk quickly in his damaged condition, and Harry could hear the pebbles crunching ever closer as the dark lord shuffled up the nearly quarter mile path. At last he glimpsed the hooded face, and Harry barely suppressed a gasp. His enemy appeared more reptilian than ever, his thin face closer to that of a snake than a human, narrow red eyes and a nose consisting of two slits. In the moonlight, his skin seemed to have taken on the color of chalk. When Voldemort's body appeared as he slowly completed the climb, Harry could see that the dark lord was not well. He hunched his shoulders and walked with a kind of limping shuffle. Too bad this could not be a fist fight, Harry thought, one punch and it would be over.

But Harry knew better. Voldemort was a genius, evil, but a genius nonetheless. Fear tried to enter Harry's mind, but he remained too occupied by the scene in front of him. At last, Lord Voldemort came to a halt, facing Harry some thirty yards away, the bitter breeze not appearing to bother him in the least.

Harry spoke first, not realizing that he hissed the words in Parseltongue, for the creature in front of him seemed more snake than wizard.

"Welcome to my home, Tom Riddle. You can avoid me no longer."

"You think quite highly of yourself, Harry," Voldemort hissed back in the same language, "Tonight you will see a true wizard duel. I admit that you have surprised me. You have shown more spirit than I expected. But spirit will not serve you tonight. Do not believe that you can kill me, Harry, for I have achieved immortality. I cannot be killed."

"Tom, you have achieved nothing! Have you looked at yourself? You are pathetic, neither wizard nor serpent. You have become a monster." Harry hissed the word "monster" with special disdain.

Voldemort cringed at the word, but his facial expression did not change. In fact, his face could not express emotion any more than a snake's could. Harry read the body language just fine, however, and he knew that he had touched a nerve.

The snake-wizard hissed his response in the lowest, most threatening hiss Harry had ever heard, "I am much more than a monster. I am immortal. I am a god!" As he stretched out the final ssss of his statement, without warning he flicked his wand and a bolt of orange light sped towards Harry. The young man, however, had never let down his guard. Immediately and silently he cast a shield charm while at the same time stepping to his right, on top of the grass of his father's grave. The spell, whatever it was, whizzed by Harry's left shoulder, deflecting off of his shield into oblivion.

Harry did not need to be told twice that the duel had begun, and he wordlessly cast two spells at his enemy, expelliarmus and stupefy. He did not expect either spell to succeed; nevertheless, he could not avoid feeling disappointed that Voldemort did not even bother to move his wand to erect a shield. The two spells approached him but melted away within feet of their target.

Voldemort laughed, half human and half reptile, at Harry's reaction.

"You have no idea what I can do, Harry Potter," he taunted his nemesis in English, though with such a hissing to it that it did not sound much different than Parseltongue. Harry quickly regained his composure and cast the reducto charm several feet in front of Voldemort, anticipating that whatever power the evil wizard had would not prevent this spell from reaching the ground. Once again, Harry observed the result with disappointment, as with a mere flick of the dark lord's wand, the curse veered to the side, pulverizing a tree below them a few seconds later.

"Don't panic!" Harry instructed himself, "You knew he would be good." He remembered Dumbledore's words: _Every wizard has a weakness. Despite his powers, Riddle has many weaknesses - especially arrogance and disdain for all things muggle._ He had no time to ponder these words, however, as Voldemort casually cast the unforgivable Cruciatus curse at Harry, but from a distance that allowed Harry to dodge it easily. Voldemort did not seem surprised or upset, but he began to shuffle towards his foe to lessen the distance. Harry remained rooted to the grave site, deciding that he would rather die there than anywhere else.

Time for something more advanced, Harry thought, and with two quick flicks of his wand, he sent a volley of steel darts into the air, covering from several feet on each side of the dark lord so that he could not easily dodge them. This time, Voldemort did have to raise his wand, but he casually redirected the darts away from him and continued his slow march forward. With the briefest of flicks, a huge serpent emerged from his wand and made its way towards Harry.

"How very Slytherin of you," Harry taunted in Parseltongue. When Draco Malfoy tried this spell on him years earlier, Harry had spoken to the snake, but he could not risk the time and effort such an action would require, so he merely pointed his wand at the approaching serpent, lifted it into the air and threw it towards Voldemort. This did in fact surprise the dark lord who jerked awkwardly to one side, vanishing the flying reptile with another flick of his wand. He sneered.

But Harry had already attacked again with a spell taught to him by Professor Dumbledore. With three circular waves of his wand above his head, a sheet of ice flew out of his wand towards the opponent. If properly performed, the spell would temporarily immobilize the enemy allowing Harry to finish him off with another attack. Voldemort definitely displayed surprised this time, and wildly waved his wand in front of him, throwing a flame which immediately melted the ice.

"At least I'm holding my own," Harry thought, though he realized that he had not made any real progress, and Voldemort came closer and closer. Harry needed something to distract Voldemort in order to implement his plan, and he merely hoped to fend off the dark lord's attacks until an opportunity presented itself.. He vaguely heard more rustling in the bushes.

The two parseltongues glared at each other and with simultaneous flicks of their wands directed new curses at each other, only to see the bolts of light crash into each other and vanish, absorbed by the night darkness.

"So you have brought a new wand," Harry sneered, realizing that Voldemort no longer wielded the brother wand to Harry's, as he had when he regained his body in the graveyard so long before. "Wise decision," taunted the young wizard, "IMPERIO."

For the first time, Harry attempted the unforgivable curse. He had not planned it, but somehow he felt that he could control the dark lord if he could hit him with it. Voldemort slid to the side, now some forty feet from Harry, and the curse narrowly missed him. Hissing leaked from his lips, and in the briefest of moments, Voldemort again cast the cruciatus curse. Harry leapt to his right, but Voldemort had anticipated his enemy's movement. The young wizard realized that he would be hit, so he twisted his body in an attempt to avoid the spell, almost succeeding. The curse barely brushed against him, not enough to receive the full effect of the torture, but enough to knock the air out of him and throw him to the ground. His wand fell from his hands and caromed some five feet away. Temporarily immobilized, his mind still functioned, attempting to instruct his body to move. He was a sitting duck. If he did not move soon, he would be a dead man.

Voldemort took a few more shuffles towards his nemesis, his shoulders thrown back in victory. The cold breeze whipped his black cape behind him, and the thinnest of smiles managed to form on his nearly immobile mouth.

"You have been a worthy opponent, Harry Potter. I will bury you here, next to your pathetic parents. You at least have proven more worthy than they. But I will delay no further, Harry. AVADA . . . "

The brief words of his enemy gave Harry a few moments to gather himself, but he had no chance to stand. With the first syllable of the killing curse, he rolled towards his wand, reaching out his hand to summon it, but he knew it was useless. The movement would not be quick enough to avoid the green bolt and certain death.

"Remember me kindly," he thought, the faces of his friends appearing before him, "I tried."

Yet when he finished his roll, he had not been killed, and a moment later his wand landed in his hand. Voldemort had not even finished the curse, and as Harry grasped his wand tightly, he looked up to see the dark lord in a tremendous struggle. At least a dozen snakes of various sizes and colors had somehow attacked Voldemort from behind, who must have been distracted both by his imminent victory over his greatest enemy and from the noise of his cape flapping in the wind. Mouth agape, Harry managed to push himself up to a knee, thoroughly astonished by what his eyes witnessed. Issamir could be seen around the dark lord's neck, as other serpents wrapped around arms and legs.

Voldemort hissed in Parseltongue at the reptiles, "Get off of me! I command you!" The serpents did not obey.

A few of them hissed taunts at the dark lord, and Harry distinctly heard Issamir respond, "You do not command us. Harry Potter is the serpent wizard. You will not command us!" Harry managed to stand shakily, suffering from the effects of the brush with the unforgivable curse and his hard landing on the gravel. The skin on one arm had been scraped raw, and he had a knot on his head, but Harry did not realize either injury. Voldemort's initial shock had warn off, and he managed to throw off several of the attackers, but they returned almost as soon as they touched the ground. The gnarled hand of the dark lord reached up to pull Issamir off of his neck, and the brave serpent sunk two fangs as deep as he could into Voldemort's forearm. Other snakes bit too, and the dark lord hissed in pain.

The opportunity that Harry needed had in fact presented itself, but his mind had not fully cleared, and he failed to act immediately, as he should have. Instead, he continued to watch the serpents attacking his enemy, hoping that they could harm him to the point that Harry's job would become easier, or even unnecessary. Maybe some of snake bites contained deadly venom, he hoped.

Seeing Harry standing frozen before him, Voldemort managed to point his wand at the young man and again pronounced the killing curse, this time saying it in its entirety: "AVADA KEDAVRA." Too late, Harry realized that he needed to move, but his legs and arms seemed to weigh a ton each. He moved, but so slowly that the curse would most certainly reach its target.

But just as the dark lord finished the curse, a large black snake from around Voldemort's leg sprung upward with it's large mouth wide open, jaws unhinged. Its aim proved true, as the open mouth covered the tip of the wand just as the green curse left it. The snake died immediately, its mouth closing involuntarily around the wand.

"A snake I don't even know just sacrificed itself for me," Harry realized with astonishment. The remaining serpents became even more enraged, attacking and biting Voldemort with greater ferocity.

Harry's eyes glared at his enemy, his pain forgotten, as the sacrifice of the unknown serpent cleared his mind. The moment had arrived. Harry quickly turned and disappeared, silently thinking the incantation, "Portus animagus," just as he did each time he possessed Issamir's body. Instinctively he knew that the spell would work on Voldemort too, and in less than a tick of clock, Harry inhabited the body of the dark lord.

Though no sound could be heard, he screamed in excruciating pain as he felt one thousand knives stabbing him. Voldemort's screaming could be heard aloud, though he could no longer produce a sound louder than a deep hissing. The two enemies both had to control their minds over the unbearable pain. The turn of events shocked the serpents, which quickly left Voldemort's body and slithered a few yards away, turning to observe the incredible sight of the Snake Wizard shaking in pain.

Applying his experiences against the horcruxes, Harry searched for Voldemort's essence, his soul. Voldemort understood the attack and immediately countered, and the two souls entwined. Both combatants knew that one had to exert dominion over the other, and Harry knew the nature of his secret weapon: love. He tried to fill himself with the love he felt for his friends, but hard as he tried, he could not concentrate over the pain. Again and again he attempted, to no avail.

Voldemort's body shook uncontrollably due to the possession, yet he remained standing in the exact spot where the possession had occurred. A minute passed, then two, then five. Neither combatant made any progress, and Harry realized that Voldemort could not move. The dark lord still gripped his wand, and Harry focused his mind on the hand holding it. Voldemort's right armed jerked, and immediately he tried to resist Harry's attempt to control his movements. Both men focused all of their magical power on that part of the body.

Harry felt a surge of confidence. He had done this before, mind to mind combat with Tom Riddle. In the graveyard when he resisted the imperious curse and when their brother wands connected. In the Ministry when Voldemort could not maintain possession of Harry's body. In defeating five horcruxes. In their more recent mental confrontations. Each time, Harry prevailed.

Voldemort's hand suddenly turned so that his wand pointed towards his stomach, and slowly the wand inched towards his abdomen. Though he resisted with all of his might, the wand moved inexorably. When it reached within a foot of its target, the wand transfigured into a six inch blade, just as Harry's own wand when he slew the wolf in McNaughton Castle.

This had not been Harry's plan. He surmised that he could possess Voldemort's body and cause his enemy severe pain. Beyond that, the "plan" consisted mostly of conjecture and hope. Hopefully Harry had the strength to make the possession stick. Hopefully Harry could drown Voldemort's spirit with "the power he knows not," love, which hopefully would succeed in destroying the dark lord. Instinctively it made sense to the young wizard, but when he thought it through rationally, he saw hole after hole in the plan. Ultimately he decided to trust his instincts.

Never had Harry considered stabbing Voldemort with his own wand, yet he now concentrated all of his powers into forcing the transfigured wand closer and closer to Tom Riddle's midsection. What would happen when the knife entered the body? Would Harry feel the pain? Would Harry be able to survive? Would he die with Voldemort? Could he escape? The knife arrived within three inches of its target before the dark lord's desperation halted its progress.

The serpents backed away another few feet as they watched the incredible sight of the Snake Wizard apparently trying to stab himself with his own wand. A wispy cloud partially covered the moon, reducing visibility to nearly zero.

Harry could not contemplate whether this course of action made sense. The piercing pain of the possession of the snake-like wizard prevented any rational thought, but the pain did not prevent him from concentrating on moving that knife a few more inches. Neither Voldemort nor Harry communicated with each other, for each had been forced to exert themselves beyond the capacity to carry on a conversation. No chit chat in this battle. Only one thing mattered to Harry at that moment. The knife had to move three more inches.  
Voldemort's desperation slowly fell to the superior power of the younger and fitter wizard. The dark lord's transformations over the decades, the multiple splitting of his soul, his banishment to and return from oblivion, and the experiments he had conducted on his own body weakened him more than he ever admitted. Perhaps he retained enough power to deal with a normal wizard, but not for his current opponent. He trusted that his superior knowledge and skill as a wizard would provide the edge he needed to defeat the boy, but he knew that he needed to avoid a direct confrontation of magical power at all costs. The boy had thrown off his imperious curse, had prevailed when their brother wands met. Tom Riddle never considered that the boy knew how to possess him. His worst fears had come to pass; he had no option now but to pit his power against the boy's.

Beneath the pain, Harry sensed victory. Perhaps this would be the end of the ordeal that his life had become. With the final defeat of his rival, he could become a normal person for the first time, live a normal life, allow his friends to live in peace. On the other hand, if this action resulted in his own death, so be it. One way or the other, he need fight no longer. With a final burst of magical power, he overcame Tom Riddle's desperate resistance, and the blade jumped the final three inches, breaking the snake wizard's scaly skin, and diving full length into his stomach.

The moment the knife stuck, the pain to both participants increased exponentially, and Harry could no longer maintain possession of his enemy's body. The young wizard left Voldemort and for a second hovered above the dark lord, who had doubled over in reaction to the stabbing. The release of the body reduced his pain, and Harry picked a spot immediately behind his enemy to reappear. A crack could be heard throughout the valley as Harry Potter's body materialized two feet from Lord Voldemort's back.

Tom Riddle automatically removed the knife from his stomach, and it reverted to its natural form as a wand. He held the wand loosely in his right hand, but momentarily could not summon the strength to cast a spell. Harry gasped for air for a moment, and quickly took inventory. Most importantly, he confirmed that he had not died, though his body had been numbed by the pain. Without thinking, he reached forward and knocked the wand out of his rival's hand, who now stood doubled over, helpless.

Harry briefly considered possessing the dark lord anew, but he could not bear that pain again. Instead, he thrust his hand into the pocket of his robe and removed the same knife with which he had slain Nagini, and before the dark lord could move, Harry grabbed the back of his cape, pulling him upwards while at the same thrusting the foot-long blade into his back. Immediately he pulled the blade out and thrust it in again, a few inches to the left of the first wound. Harry pushed the knife in deeper and twisted it, ripping through nerves and blood vessels, yet only a muted hiss escaped the injured wizard's lips.

Pulling the knife out again, Harry saw a dark greenish substance oozing from the blade and the wounds. His eyes shone with hatred for the man who had made his life a living hell for so many years. With his left hand, Harry grabbed Voldemort's shoulder and jerked on it, turning the gasping wizard around.

"You cannot kill me, Harry Potter." Voldemort whispered, "This body may die, but I will live on. I am immortal."

The snakes approached the two wizards, and Issamir hissed at Harry, "You must finish the job, Harry Potter. You must complete your destiny."

Without further delay, Harry thrust the dripping blade into Tom Riddle's stomach, again causing him to double over in pain, not falling down only because Harry's arm, still connected to the knife, held him up.

"The horcruxes are destroyed, Tom," Harry grunted through gritted teeth, "All of them. Tonight, Tom Riddle will live no more."

With one final twist of the blade, Tom Riddle fell to the gravel, mere feet from the grave of Albus Dumbledore, an irony neither man would know. The great Lord Voldemort now curled on the ground in pain, barely breathing in his last breaths. Harry turned him onto his back with his foot and looked down. Issamir slithered up Harry's leg and body and wrapped itself comfortably around his neck.

"You have won, Harry Potter. The serpent world will remember you always. Your name will be revered for generations," the serpent hissed. But Harry barely heard what his serpent friend said, instead focused on the fallen dark lord, the victim of a muggle death.

"Remember your muggle roots," Dumbledore had written to him six months earlier, and in fact a fancy spell did not kill the dark lord, nor an unforgivable curse.

"You were born a muggle and you will die a muggle, Tom," Harry spoke softly, as Voldemort struggled with his last breaths. A moment later, Dobby appeared walking towards his master levitating three unconscious death eaters beside him. Harry briefly smiled at his friend, "You did well, Dobby. You always do."

Dobby had not known exactly what was happening on the hill above him, but he resisted the temptation to abandon his duty to help his master. Somehow he knew that Harry would prevail, and so he remained below, picking off each of the three death eaters serving as Voldemort's backup in case of problems.

"See that Tom?" Harry asked with pride, "One house elf took out three of your death eaters. What does that tell you?"

Tom Riddle could not answer. He had lapsed into unconsciousness. In a moment he would die, Harry knew. What would happen next? Harry hoped that it would not be what he feared.

Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley sat uncomfortably in the large master bedroom of Grimmauld Place, Harry's room. Even though it was New Year's Eve, everyone in the house went to bed at the normal time. With nothing to celebrate, they saw no reason to see in the new year. Hermione had taken Ron aside and told him to remain dressed and to come to Harry's room in an hour. When he arrived, she filled him in. Now they sat and waited, saying nothing.

From time to time, Hermione could not repress the thought that Harry could be dead even as they sat there completely helpless. Tears formed in her eyes more than once, but she wiped them away before they could escape. How would they know what had happened? She had no idea where Harry had gone, no way to find him. Would everything they had accomplished be for naught? Had it all been a waste of time? Would she ever see Harry Potter alive again? They sat.

Ron saw the worry etched on Hermione's face, but he could not think of any words of comfort. He tried to convince himself that Harry would prevail. Harry had become immensely powerful; this was his destiny. Good always prevails over evil, does it not? In the back of his mind he knew the answer: Sometimes it does not. Sometimes evil wins. He closed his eyes.

Moments later a tell-tale pop announced the arrival of Dobby. Hermione and Ron jumped off of their chairs as the house elf appeared.

"Dobby! What's happened?" the two spoke in unison.

"You must come! Harry Potter needs your help. Dobby does not know what is happening to Harry Potter." The elf hopped uncontrollably, unable to communicate further. Ron grabbed him by his shoulders and pinned his feet to the floor.

"Dobby, is Harry alive?"

"Yes. Harry Potter is alive. Harry Potter kill the dark lord. But something is wrong. Something bad is happening. Harry Potter call for his Granger friend and his Weasel friend."

"Where is he?" Hermione asked with urgency.

"Harry Potter is by the graves of his parents."

"Godric's Hollow!" Hermione exclaimed, "Of course, that's where he would want to do it. We've got to get there right away. Can you take us, Dobby?"

"No. House elf is not able to take wizard. Wizard will die."

"We've never been there," Ron cried, "We can't apparate there by ourselves."

"Your mum and dad have been there, haven't they?" Hermione asked hopefully.

"Probably. Let's go." And with that the witch, wizard and elf bolted out of Harry's room and down the halls to the bedroom of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.

"Mum. Dad. Wake up! You've got to take us to Godric's Hollow. NOW!"

Ron's parents had been sound asleep, but in a second they sat up wide awake, the urgency in their youngest son's voice acting like a bucket of ice water.

"Godric's Hollow?" Arthur asked.

"Harry is there," Hermione half yelled, beside herself at the time being wasting, "He needs our help, but we've never been there. You need to side-along apparate us there. Right away." Molly and Arthur wrapped robes over their night clothes and then grabbed their wands and heavy capes.

"We'll have to go outside to apparate," Arthur ordered, but before he could say more, Hermione cut him off.

"No. We can go from here. Harry removed the anti-apparation wards before he left. Let's go!"

Arthur grabbed Hermione's shoulder and Molly did the same with Ron. The door to the room burst open just as they disappeared. Ginny ran in, having heard the yells from her parents' room. She arrived too late, but she had heard the words "Godric's Hollow."

She ran back out of the room yelling, "FRED! GEORGE!"

Remus Lupin departed the home of his old friend, Sirius Black, shortly after dinner, preferring to be alone as the new year arrived. The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix included small private living quarters both for Remus and for Kingsley Shacklebolt, though frankly they spent little time there beyond catching a few hours of sleep here and there. But on New Years Eve, the werewolf decided that he deserved a few hours to himself. As much as he could, he relaxed.

A book sat crookedly on his lap, as his head rested awkwardly on the back of the small sofa in his tiny sitting room, eyes closed. Thus he nearly had a heart attack when Fred, George and Ginny Weasley burst into his room yelling at him.

"Wait a minute," he shouted with his hands in the air, "What has happened?"

"It's Harry," George replied as calmly as he could, "He's at Godric's Hollow, and something is wrong. We don't know how to get there. You have to take Ginny. We think she needs to be there."

But Remus had already stopped listening. He grabbed his wand and cape and ran out of the room, his heart pounding in his chest. The others raced after him across the open ranch land surrounding the headquarters until he had crossed the edge of the antiapparation zone.

"Come on," he almost growled at Ginny who had not been able to keep up with the pace of the werewolf. When she arrived a few moments later, Remus roughly stopped her, placed his hand on her shoulder, and the two disappeared. Fred and George stopped to catch their breaths, nodded that their job had been completed, and disappeared as well.

Several minutes before these events, Tom Riddle's body shook as his internal organs shut down one by one. Peering down at the reptilian wizard, Harry could see that air now barely entered his lungs. The Boy Who Lived had survived again, this time because of the intervention of Issamir in gathering an attack force of serpents, including one unknown snake which sacrificed itself for Harry.

Harry quietly hissed at Issamir which peered down from around Harry's neck at the dying snake wizard below, "Who was the serpent that stopped the killing curse? He saved my life."

"She saved your life, Harry Potter. Her name was Hashashis, the grandmother of many of the serpents which attacked the snake wizard. She was greatly loved and revered by all of my kind in this area. It was she who agreed to come when I requested assistance. When she agreed, all of the others followed." The attacking snakes now surrounded Harry and the fallen Voldemort from a distance.

Harry could barely see them in the dark, but he straightened his back and hissed as loudly as he could, "May we all honor the memory of Hashashis, for without her the snake wizard would have prevailed. May she be remembered always." He heard hisses of agreement.

Turning back to Tom Riddle, Harry could see that it was almost over. Somehow, the process of dying had lessened the reptilian visage of the dark lord, and though much disfigured, Harry could now recognize the face of Tom Riddle that he had seen in Dumbledore's pensieve.

"You could have been great, Tom. You could have been another Dumbledore."

With those words, the body of Tom Riddle convulsed softly one last time, and the air slowly escaped from his lungs. His head fell limply to the side. Harry, Dobby, Issamir and all of the on-looking serpents remained motionless. The fallen wizard's body shook again, barely perceptibly, and a greenish vapor escaped from his midsection. The vapor at first seemed to disperse, almost becoming invisible, but it reformed rapidly, as if it somehow knew where to go. A moment later, the vapor shot towards Harry Potter, who made no attempt to avoid it. The battle had not been completed.

"Great! Just Great!" Harry thought to himself as the remnants of Tom Riddle passed through his clothing and into his gut. He braced himself for anything, but at first he noticed nothing. The body of the fallen dark lord below him, Harry looked down for a moment, but with no sense of triumph.

"Harry Potter, what is happening?" a confused Dobby squeaked, "What was that green steam."

"It's what was left of Lord Voldemort," Harry answered in a nervous voice, "he has entered my body, because there is nowhere else that he can survive." For months this fear had haunted the Boy Who Lived; somehow he knew that with all of the horcruxes destroyed, Harry himself carried the only portion of Voldemort's soul remaining. The wizard and elf stood frozen in place, waiting.

Having destroyed five of them, Harry knew all about horcruxes, and this was no horcrux. After several seconds, he finally felt something inside of him, a tingling numbness at first which intensified over the next half a minute.

"How can I attack it?" Harry asked himself, but he had no answer. He could find nothing to attack; he could not locate it or even describe it, but it was there. Fear crept into his mind. Would he be able to kill the invader? Would he have to live with part of Voldemort inside of him for the rest of his life? Could he? Did he want to?

His final question was answered promptly, as suddenly nausea overcome him, and he fell to his knees, vomiting on the grass a few feet away from his fallen enemy. But instead of feeling better after heaving out the contents of his stomach, he felt even worse, and in a few moments, he vomited the last contents of his stomach.

"This is not good," he told himself in the understatement of the century.

"What is wrong, Harry Potter?" Dobby cried, "What should Dobby do?"

Harry had recovered enough to instruct the house elf, "Go back to my room. Tell Ron and Hermione to come. I need help." Dobby did not need to be told twice, and in a moment he vanished.


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter 37

Look at His Body

Issamir held on for dear life while Harry wretched, but remained securely around Harry's neck. The wizard heaved several times before he finally gasped for air.

After Harry regained control, the slender grey serpent hissed, "The snake wizard is inside of you, Harry Potter. I can sense him. You must destroy him once and for all."

"I know," Harry hissed back, leaning back on his knees and continuing to breathe, "but I do not know how. This feels different from the other times. The snake wizard is inside me, but he is not trying to take me over, he is just there. I do not know how to attack him, and I feel so weak." Indeed he felt faint and decided he needed to reposition himself. From the corner of his eye he saw his parents' graves, so he crawled over to them and lay down on his back, his head on the grave of Lily and his legs over the grave of James. He closed his eyes and passed out. Issamir slid off of Harry, and moved a few feet away, wondering what it could do to help the wizard.

Dobby arrived moments later, returning to his master as soon as Ron and Hermione rushed out of Harry's room. He appeared in the middle of the hill, and once he spotted Harry lying on his back, raced to his side. He almost placed a hand on the wizard's shoulder, when the elf sensed instinctively that he could not.

"What is happening, Harry Potter?" Dobby asked nervously, "Harry Potter must wake up. Dobby has told Harry Potter's friends that they must come. Harry Potter must wake up." The tiny elf shifted from foot to foot, thinking furiously of what he could do. Issamir hissed at him, and the elf and snake stared at each other for several seconds. House elves do not like snakes, and Dobby had accepted Issamir's friendship with Harry grudgingly, only because Harry explained how the small serpent had helped in his adventures. The serpent's eyes met the elf's, and though neither could communicate with the other, each understood the worry in the eyes of the other.

A few minutes later, two loud cracks could be heard by the ruins of James and Lily Potter's house.

From atop the hillock, Dobby called down, "Up here. Harry Potter is up here." The four raced up the gravel path the quarter mile as fast as they could, Ron arriving first, panting from the effort. Hermione arrived a few seconds later, and the scene that greeted them in the dim moonlight caused their hearts to drop to their feet. For all the world both Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort appeared to have died. The two friends rushed to Harry's side, but before they reached him, they saw his body shiver slightly as he gasped for air. At least he was alive!

Ron grabbed Hermione's arm before she could bend down to touch her great friend, cautioning her, "We need to be careful! Remember what happened in the museum."

The warning did not stop the witch, but she did slow her approach, and instead of taking him in her arms, she waved her hand over Harry's body. Fortunately for her, she did not act rashly, for she easily felt the enormous magical energy emanating from the body. Harry could not be touched.

"Tell us what happened, Dobby," Arthur instructed when he and Molly arrived half a minute after their son. Issamir and the other serpents backed away invisibly as the two additional humans arrived. They headed for the nearest bushes, but Issamir paused one last moment, looking back at Harry Potter. It could do nothing for him now, and as it slithered between the branches and out of sight, it hoped that one day it would be able to speak with the true snake wizard again.

"Dobby was in the forest stopping the bad wizards that came with the dark lord," the house elf explained, wildly waving his arms towards the three unconscious death eaters stacked together, "Harry Potter and the dark lord were fighting like wizards; Dobby could hear wizard spells, but Dobby could not see from the forest. Finally Dobby came up the hill when the noise ended. Harry Potter killed the dark lord. But then a green steam come from the dark lord and moved into Harry Potter's stomach. Harry Potter became sick, and Harry Potter told Dobby to find his Granger friend and his Weasel friend."

"Voldemort's inside of him," Hermione whispered in horror. The others looked on in silence.

Though unconscious, Harry appeared to be anything but comfortable. His body failed to relax, and he lay upon his parents' graves like a wax figure. Molly waved her wand over him trying to ascertain the boy's physical condition.

"His breathing and pulse are a little low, but not too bad. He does have a bad fever, however." The four onlookers encircled the fallen wizard in confusion.

"He needs to be moved," Arthur finally suggested, "Death eaters may be coming. I'm sure You Know Who would have told them to come at a certain time. We need to notify Remus."

"But we can't touch him," Hermione responded, wrapping her cloak tightly around her to fend off the cold, "and he's on his parents' graves. This is where he wants to be."

"We'll need to protect him here, then, at least for the time being," Arthur decided, quickly considering actions that he could take, "You three stay here, I'll contact Remus and the Order to get a force up here as soon as possible." He took a couple of steps away preparing to apparate when they all heard a loud crack just a few feet away from them. Four wands slashed in the direction of the sound, only to be returned to their holders when the bodies of Remus and Ginny appeared.

"Remus! I was just going to find you," Arthur exclaimed, not wasting time on requesting an explanation for how his only daughter managed to place herself into an extremely dangerous situation. Arthur briefly explained the predicament, the severity of which the werewolf general understood immediately.

"We have the high ground," Remus considered, stepping towards the edge of the small hill, "but we must secure it immediately." Reaching for a chain around his neck, he pulled up a medallion, tapping it several times with his wand. "I will be back in five minutes with a force," he promised, "They have been summoned to headquarters, and we will portkey here. Come with me, Arthur. We need to make plans."

Ginny rushed to Harry's side, restrained by Ron and Hermione from touching him.

She stepped back and looked her brother and friend in the eye, "We have to do something. Harry has done too much for us, for the whole world. We cannot let him die!"

"He's not going to die!" Ron declared with certainty, though he offered no brilliant ideas to assure this.

"Let's think this through," Hermione ordered desperately, "We know that whatever is left of Voldemort is inside Harry. Somehow Harry has to kill it, but this is not a horcrux. It's not the same thing."

"'It's love, Riddle.' That's what Harry said, remember?" Ron added, "Somehow Harry has to fill himself with love, and then Voldemort won't be able to exist. That is the power he knows not." Hermione fretted as her mind furiously ran through all of the possible ramifications.

"Voldemort found the piece of his soul that he left inside Harry accidentally when Harry was a baby. I don't know if Harry can get rid of him that easily. Voldemort has nowhere else to go, and he'll be desperate. He'll try to take control of Harry. Hopefully Harry can destroy it like the horcruxes," she opined without much conviction. A gust of wind blew over the hillock, forcing them to brace themselves for a moment. The gust left as quickly as it came, but it did not blow away their problem.

"That just can't be!" Ginny growled, "This CANNOT be happening! What will it take for Harry ever to be able to live a normal life? When will it ever end?" She stepped towards the graves of Mr. and Mrs. Potter, over which Harry remained motionless on his back, dimly illuminated by the half moon.

Harry's three friends jumped at the sound of apparation cracks in the trees below, instantaneously wielding their wands and crouching down. Molly did the same, and the four surrounded Harry's unconscious body. Even more cracks sounded and rustling could be heard from the trees below. Dobby hopped nervously and suddenly disappeared with a pop, but the others did not notice. Somehow they had to hold off the death eaters long enough for the forces of the Order of the Phoenix to arrive.

Ron would never be able to explain why he did what he did next. Without considering his actions, he placed his wand to his mouth, softly saying "Sonorus" to amplify his voice. A moment later his voice echoed throughout Godric's Hollow:

"LORD VOLDEMORT IS DEAD! HARRY POTTER HAS KILLED HIM. YOUR LEADER HAS FAILED. LOOK AT HIS BODY."

He pointed his wand at the fallen dark lord, pronounced "wingardium leviosa" and lifted the corpse high into the air. In the darkness, the death eaters below could only see a dark form above them. Hermione realized this and pointed her wand at the floating body, saying, "Lumos." Ginny did the same, and the two beams of light illuminated the body sufficiently. Rustling and grumbling could be heard from below. No doubt the death eaters attempted to determine whether this was a trick, whether they should attack the hillock, or whether they should abandon their leader. Even though they could not see them, Molly, Hermione, Ginny and Ron could feel the shock and indecision of the death eaters below. They all thought the same thing: "Get here soon, Remus!"

Perhaps a minute passed. The noise from below decreased, but no apparation cracks occurred. The wizard and three witches atop the hill knew that Voldemort's followers would attack. Ron brought the body back to earth, allowing it to thump to the ground unceremoniously, and he looked nervously at the others. Footsteps could be heard from all around them; dozens of wizards had begun to climb the hill.

"We have to leave," Molly ordered quietly but firmly, attempting to take charge. Though a member of the Order, she rarely participated in dangerous missions and could hardly be considered battle-tested. It did not take a military genius, however, to determine the untenability of their position. "Apparate back to the house. NOW!" The three teens did not move, barely paying attention to the older woman.

"We are not leaving without Harry," Ron declared just as firmly, then looking at his sister and former girlfriend, "Do you think we can try to move him?"

"We have no choice," Hermione answered simply, "I'll do it." The crunches of the footsteps neared the crest of the small hill. "Harry's room," she ordered, but the others did not move.

"You go first," Ginny insisted, her wand pointed outward at the unseen enemy, "We'll follow." Hermione wanted to argue the point, but she had no time. She thought she saw the form of a dark hood poke into sight.

"Now or never," she thought to herself, rising to a knee and reaching out her hand to grab Harry's shoulder. As soon as her fingers touched his cape, she realized her mistake, as she jerked from the shock emitted from Harry's body, throwing her backwards into Ginny, causing the two of them to fall to the gravel awkwardly. Ginny cushioned the older girl's fall and fortunately escaped unhurt herself. As quickly as she could, she rolled Hermione off of her and lay prone on the ground, her wand pointed ahead. Hopeless though it may be, especially with Harry and now Hermione unconscious, they would have to fight. The only advantage they had for the moment was a black cloud that passed in front of the moon, removing what little illumination had existed from the night sky.

Molly and Ron followed Ginny's lead, but they did not want to fire any spells at the dark forms now barely visible above the crest of the hill, for that would reveal their location. At least for the moment, the attacking force did not know their exact location. They lay as close to the ground as they could, trying not to move a muscle.

"Where are you, Remus?" they all pleaded silently. The death eaters still could not see them in the almost complete darkness, and the three Weasleys heard whispers all around them.

A moment later a force arrived, but not Remus with the Order of the Phoenix. A series of pops announced the arrival of Dobby, Winky, and perhaps a dozen other house elves that Dobby somehow had managed to round up in a few short minutes. House elves can see in the dark better than wizards, and soon their silent and lightless spells picked off death eaters one by one. Thud, thud, thud, Molly, Ron and Ginny heard, not understanding for several moments what had happened until finally they could barely make out the outlines of the diminutive creatures.

Death eaters wildly threw spells, more to create light than to disable their attackers, but as soon as a flash left a wand, the attacking death eater fell unconscious to the ground, sometimes hit by two or three elven spells. The wizards who had not yet reached the top of the hill turned tail and ran back down the hill to regroup. At that moment, Remus and two dozen aurors and Order members arrived in a series of deafening booms as three portkeys arrived. In a coordinated manoeuver, the fighters crouched in a defensive circle, wands raised and ready to fire. They saw nothing in the blackness.

"Don't fire," Molly cried, "or you may hit the house elves. They just saved our lives."

"House elves?" Remus asked confused, "Lumos." Waving the light around, he in fact discovered a number of them, some wearing Hogwarts house elf uniforms. "What happened?"

"Dobby brought friends," the house elf explained, approaching the werewolf, "Dobby could not let Harry Potter be harmed."

"Looks like you did a good job," Remus admitted incredulously as some of his force rushed to the edge of the hill, firing spells down at the retreating death eaters. Voldemort's followers immediately realized the hopelessness of their position, and a series of apparation cracks announced their return to their headquarters at Hogwarts Castle.

Remus' soldiers gathered the limp bodies of those that had been struck down by house elf or wizard. He shone the light from his wand around the hill, surveying the scene. Arthur Weasley had rushed to the side of his wife while Ron and Ginny crawled to Hermione's side. For the moment, everyone forgot about Harry Potter. Nobody saw his body start to move.

Harry missed all of the action. Voldemort's soul, the remnant of it, invaded every corner of Harry's body, and the young man simply could stand it no longer. He felt like he would be sick forever.

"I'm going to die," he told himself, and his only fear was that he might not. After dragging himself to his parents' graves, his body defensively lost consciousness, for it could no longer bear the pain. He lay on top of the hill, completely unaware of the battle raging around him. The battle that raged inside of his body and mind is lost to history, for Harry had no recollection of it when he slowly regained consciousness, roused by the noise of the Order members stomping around Godric's Hollow.

For half a minute, Harry remained in a state of semi-consciousness, eyes closed. Finally the basic outline of his situation cleared in his mind. Voldemort's body had died, but the residue of his soul remained. It had latched onto that element of Tom Riddle's soul that Harry had carried with him since the Halloween night so many years ago.

"I am dangerous," he told himself, for he knew that the essence of Tom Riddle inside of him emitted rage, uncontrollable anger and evil. Harry sensed that he was not completely in control of himself and most definitely not in control of his uninvited guest. Finally opening his eyes, he only saw darkness and for a moment believed himself blind. A moment later, however, he could sense the dark form of a body walking to his side.

"KILL THEM ALL!" a voice ordered, and rage surged inside of him. Opening his hand he silently called for his wand, which unknown to the others in the darkness flew into his hand. He grasped it tightly and visualized a huge wall of flame that would burn alive everyone on the hill. His wand arm left the ground, and he began to wave it above him, preparing to execute the spell, when suddenly he thrust his arm back to the ground.

"I WILL NOT!" he responded silently to the voice inside of him.

"KILL THEM ALL!"

"I WILL NOT!"

Though they were mere feet away from him, Harry distantly heard the voices of Ron and Ginny tending to Hermione, and fear filled his mind. He could not hurt them; he must not place them in danger. Quietly he rolled onto his side and onto his knees. Nobody noticed him in the darkness, though wands did provide some light away from him, as his friends hovered over the unconscious Hermione and the others patrolled around the perimeter of the hill guarding against possible attack. The house elves, Dobby included, assisted the wizards and witches of the Order of the Phoenix in rounding up the bodies. Harry stood up and staggered a few feet forward. Ginny sensed that something happened, and she lifted her head.

"KILL THEM ALL!" the voice in his head repeated, even more forcefully than before.

"I WILL NOT!" Harry shouted as loud as he could, his voice echoing throughout the darkness of the low valley. Everyone on the hill froze. The effort of screaming awakened Harry's senses, and he realized what had happened and what he must do.

Ginny moved first, yelling, "HARRY," as she ran towards him. But she never reached him. With a turn and a crack, Harry disappeared.

By late morning of New Years Day, the Daily Prophet issued a hastily prepared two-page special edition, the headline in huge type splashed across the top half of the front page:

**HARRY POTTER KILLS VOLDEMORT**

Below the main headline the secondary headline added: **THE CHOSEN ONE DISAPPEARS. CONDITION UNKNOWN.** The wizarding world at first reacted slowly to the news, not believing it could be true. Though their hopes had been raised, the whispers among wizards and witches worried that Voldemort had taken over the Daily Prophet and published the issue as a ruse. Yet when a more detailed second edition arrived later in the evening of January first, and the magical population saw the first photographs of the lifeless body of Lord Voldemort displayed by grim-faced aurors, celebrations slowly but spontaneously erupted. Additional information spread across the country by word of mouth, and soon full-scale celebrations broke out.

By late that evening and into the early hours of the next morning, fireworks of a sort never seen by muggles illuminated the night skies throughout Britain, and strangely-dressed people marched down main streets of cities and towns holding fancy sparklers, shooting off sparks of every imaginable color. Most muggles laughed as the garishly dressed wizards and witches marched by, their elation contagious. By midnight, the news had shot around all of Europe and indeed the whole world. Few wizards or witches would sleep that night. Their world had been saved, and suddenly their future reappeared.

The news of the disappearance of Harry Potter dampened the enthusiasm of the parties. Innumerable glasses were raised to The Boy Who Lived and rumors of his fate spread like wildfire. Death, insanity, and incapacitating injuries topped the list of most common assumptions.

Perhaps the only wizarding home not joining in the celebration was No. 17 Grimmauld Place. In addition to Harry's three comrades, Fred and George Weasley joined their mother in the sitting room without a thought of performing even the mildest prank. Instead they brain-stormed as to where Harry could be and what could be done to find him. And ultimately, to save him.

Remus Lupin, Kingsley Shackelbolt, Arthur Weasley, and scores of aurors rapidly attacked Hogwarts early in the morning on New Years Day, as the wards on the castle fell as soon as Voldemort breathed his last. The Order of the Phoenix hoped to strike a fatal blow to Voldemort's following, but it succeeded only partially. After a brief show of resistance, the remaining death eaters sensed the futility of their actions and apparated to safety, scattering throughout Britain and beyond.

Kingsley and Remus rapidly moved the force to the Ministry when word reached them that Minister of Magic Scrimgeour intended to reenter his office in an attempt to reassert his authority. The power struggle in the new magical world had begun. Scrimgeour's sudden reappearance from his exile caused a great deal of confusion, but the Minister soon found that he had no allies on the ground. His only asset was his title, Minister of Magic. But in the chaos of the first day of the year and the first day after the death of Lord Voldemort, Scrimgeour's title proved worthless. A new political order would rise from the ashes of the old, and one thing was certain: Scrimgeour would not be a part of it.

By the evening of New Years Day, only one piece of good news arrived to Grimmauld Place. Harry was alive. Dobby and Winky, being Harry's slaves, had been able to locate their master and went to his side shortly after Harry disappeared. Late in the afternoon, a clearly shaken Winky returned to Grimmauld Place alone. She informed the Weasleys and Hermione that Harry in fact survived but wished to be left alone, and ordered Winky not to inform anyone of his location or provide any further information. Given the enchantment on her, the house elf could no more reveal Harry's whereabouts than she could have flown to the moon. Nobody bothered trying to extract the information.

Dobby, Winky informed them, would stay by Harry's side to serve him. Harry had further instructed Winky to return to Grimmauld Place to be of service to the occupants of the mansion, who he permitted to stay as long as they desired. Afterwards, if everyone left, he instructed Winky to go to the Burrow to serve Molly and Arthur until she heard further from her master. Obviously Harry felt well enough to have considered his orders carefully, and still wished to treat his friends kindly, which provided a grim reassurance that he had not lost his sanity.

"Did Harry say how long he wanted to be left alone?" Hermione asked, already knowing the answer.

"No Miss Hermione, master did not say."

"Can you give Harry a message for us?" Ginny inquired hopefully.

"No Miss Ginny, master order Winky not to return to master unless master calls for Winky."

"How does he look, Winky?" Ron asked, "Is Harry OK?" The tiny house elf could not respond, given that her master had ordered her not to provide further information, but the expression of fear on her face answered the question better than words.

Hermione half-heartedly reviewed the evening Prophet and flipped it to the floor of her bedroom, very unlike her normal tidy self. She had remained unconscious until nearly noon of January first, and when informed of the early morning events by a sobbing Ginny and a brooding Ron, she was devastated. None of the three ate a bite the entire day (a first in the life of Ronald Weasley), for inside of their bodies where their stomachs normally resided sat a huge vacuum.

By evening the tears had been shed and reality sank in. Harry had left and would not be coming back. Not any time soon, anyway.

"It's just so unfair," Ginny whispered with a hoarse voice sitting cross-legged on her bed, "When has anything ever gone right for Harry?" She recalled their conversation in the Gryffindor common room after the Halloween Ball, when she had complained how nothing was going right in her life. How silly that seemed now.

The others remained quiet for a minute, staring into themselves, until Hermione softly recalled her conversation back in July in the park near Privet Drive, "I told Harry one time that everything would be better after he killed Voldemort. He told me that he wasn't sure. I guess he was right."

"We can't give up hope," Ron gently chided the girls, "If there's one thing we know about Harry, it's that he's tough. He won't give up. Sooner or later we'll hear from him. I'm sure of it."

"I hope so," Hermione replied half-heartedly while gathering her bed clothes. She excused herself to take a shower, hoping that the warm water might wash away the despair in her heart. But the water did not help, and she felt just as badly when she stepped out of the shower. After absent-mindedly toweling off the moisture from her skin and slipping into her warm night clothes, she leaned against the sink, staring at herself in the mirror. Everything had gone to hell, and she had no idea what to do.

She had a bad feeling about this.


	38. Chapter 38

Chapter 38

You Cannot Save Me

The next few days of January did not improve over New Years Day for Ron, Ginny and Hermione. Though the world had been made safe, on the second day of the new year, they remained inside Grimmauld Place all day, reading two new editions of the Daily Prophet, and wondering out loud about Harry. The Prophet, still under the aegis of the Order of the Phoenix, intimated that the Boy Who Lived just needed some time to himself for unspecified psychological reasons. The three friends quietly hoped that Harry would appear suddenly, just as he had when he returned from Godric's Hollow after Dumbledore's death. Somehow he would prevail again, they tried to convince each other, but they felt little optimism.

On January third, Ginny made a discovery. Walking past the master bedroom after waking in the morning, she could not resist the urge to open the door, perhaps hoping unrealistically that Harry would be lying on his bed reading Quidditch Weekly. Instead she saw nothing. That is, nothing belonging to Harry remained in the room. His trunk no longer sat in the corner, and when she opened every drawer and closet in the room, everything had been removed. Harry had few possessions, but every single one of them had disappeared, right down to his Firebolt. She called for Ron and Hermione, who spent a good half hour in the room examining the emptiness. They guessed that Dobby had returned during the night, quickly packed up Harry's things (it would only have taken the elf seconds), and then transported them to wherever Harry had hidden. The emptiness crushed what little hope they had; Harry would not return anytime soon.

The restrictions on their lives could now be lifted, as Voldemort's followers for the moment had dispersed and showed no sign of organization. Aurors of the Order of the Phoenix also dispersed throughout the country trying to round up as many death eaters as they could, and they captured a dozen or so. Remus Lupin, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Arthur Weasley spent virtually all of their time at the Ministry, arranging for the government to be reestablished. Minister of Magic Scrimgeour agreed to resign his position just as soon as the Wizengamut appointed a successor, and grudgingly they allowed him back into his office. Though he issued a number of pronouncements, the Daily Prophet virtually ignored them. Instead, it published his resignation letter in its entirety.

Headmistress Minerva McGonagall returned to Hogwarts Castle with other members of the faculty and the staff of house elves, who immediately went to work erasing every piece of evidence that the school had ever been occupied by evil. The Board of Governors quickly decided to reopen the school in two or three weeks, the exact date to be announced soon. The Head Girl and the prefect, as well as Ginny, would soon be returning to school. Even Hermione could not be cheered by this thought, for the emptiness of Grimmauld Place without Harry Potter would be multiplied tenfold in the immense castle.

"I don't want to go back," Ron announced when they read the news. He had not bothered to shave during the new year, and the red fuzz on his chin could now be seen with the naked eye.

"I don't either," Ginny agreed, "but what are we going to do? We have no reason not to return. Sitting in this old house or the Burrow isn't going to help Harry." The red-headed witch had not slept well since Harry's disappearance, and her eyes drooped from sadness and exhaustion.

Ginny's logic could not be refuted, and Ron agreed that he would return as well. The emptiness in his stomach grew even larger at the thought of his dormitory without Harry.

Hermione knew she would return immediately upon reading the news. She had responsibilities as Head Girl, but primarily she needed to keep busy to occupy her mind. Returning for a couple of days to her parents' house, she informed them as best she could of what had occurred and why she had fallen into such a profound depression. Everyone in the world should be happy, she explained, except for Harry's friends. She happened to be among this small group.

The wizarding world essentially took a one week vacation after Voldemort's demise. Once the celebrations ended, nobody knew exactly what to do. Should those with jobs return to their employment as if nothing had happened during the past six months? Should businesses reopen their doors right away? Should those who fled to the continent return to their houses immediately? These uncertainties gradually faded, and by Monday of the following week, the world took its first steps toward normality. Ministry employees had been instructed to return, though the status of their employment remained up in the air. Fred and George Weasley, with the assistance of Ron and Ginny, reopened Weasleys Wizarding Wheezes, and day by day the shops and cafes of Diagon Alley opened their doors.

As no news of Harry Potter emerged, the press soon directed its attention to the news that was happening. The struggle for power in the Ministry covered pages of the Daily Prophet, which reoccupied its offices on Diagon Alley. The Wizengamut hastily arranged a session, accepting the resignation of Minister of Magic Scrimgeour. It issued a proclamation of thanks to Harry Potter, which the Prophet published in its entirety.

The leaders of the Order of the Phoenix, Remus Lupin or Kingsley Shacklebolt, emerged as the logical choices to succeed Scrimgeour, but Remus, realizing that his status as a non-human inevitably would become an issue, immediately removed his name from consideration. Though other wizards' and witches' names arose as candidates, the Wizengamut quickly appointed the leader of the sole opposition to Voldemort.

Among Shacklebolt's first acts, he appointed Remus as Minister in charge of the Ministry of Relations with Magical Creatures, instructing him to rewrite the laws with regard to house elves, werewolves, vampires, goblins and the like. If anyone grumbled that a werewolf would hold such an important position, the grumblers knew better than to voice any complaints out loud. The new Minister of Magic also appointed Arthur Weasley as Minister of Muggle Relations. A new order was rising.

Harry Potter knew nothing about any of this.

Two weeks later, Hermione Granger, her Head Girl badge freshly polished, raised her hand in the Gryffindor common room, quieting the murmurs of her returning house. Upon their return earlier that day, she had been bombarded with questions about Harry and what had REALLY happened. Ron and Ginny received similar treatment, and finally they decided to call a meeting of Gryffindor House to deal with it once and for all. They saw no reason to continue to conceal this information, and better that their fellow Gryffindors know the truth than the absurd rumors beginning to make the rounds.

The Head Girl stood silently and with great poise as the noise died down. She began speaking softly, forcing the crowd to remain silent and listen intently.

"Many of you have questions about Harry and what happened. Ron, Ginny and I intend to talk about this one time and one time only, so please give me your full attention. I do not plan to repeat myself." Her face displayed Irritation and reluctance.

The congregated Gryffindors remained mute, shocked by the unusual demeanor of their leader. The Head Girl glanced at Ron and Ginny, who nodded their encouragement.

"Harry Potter has done things that neither you nor I could have done. When I think back on it, it's almost too incredible to believe, but we were there to see it. Lord Voldemort during his life created six horcruxes, which for those of you who don't know is an object used to hold a piece of a person's soul. It's meant to make you immortal. This is the darkest magic imaginable, as to create each horcrux, Voldemort had to commit a murder. Professor Dumbledore discovered that Voldemort created six horcruxes, not just one. Dumbledore was able to destroy one horcrux, that's why his arm was black last term, but Harry had to destroy all the others."

Nobody moved when Hermione paused, as little of this information had not been published in the Daily Prophet. Shocked expressions looked up at the Head Girl, with Ron standing by her side, and Ginny next to him.

"In destroying the five horcruxes, Harry suffered. Last August, Harry ended up in a coma for a week, and another time he nearly died. You remember when he was so weak last September and October, right?" Most of the heads nodded. "None of us could have done it. Destroying a horcrux, especially one created by Lord Voldemort, requires tremendous magical power, power that only Professor Dumbledore and Harry possessed. But it took a lot out of him." She paused a moment to sip from a glass of water before returning to observe her audience.

"Finally, as you know, Voldemort and Harry met on New Year's Eve, just a little before midnight. None of us were there, so we don't know exactly how it happened, but Harry killed him!" Hermione emphasized these last words, and the hearts of all of the Gryffindors filled with pride. "But something happened afterwards. Somehow, when Harry survived Voldemort's attack as a baby, a piece of Voldemort transferred to him. When Voldemort's body died a few weeks ago, what was left of his soul somehow entered Harry's body. It could go nowhere else." The students glanced at each other nervously, not entirely understanding the import of this information.

Hermione gulped quietly and tried to make it clear, "What's left of Voldemort is inside of Harry. He left and nobody has seen him since. We can only guess that he believes that he is too dangerous to be around. That he can't control what is inside of him." She paused for a few moments before concluding, "That's all we know." Gloom settled on the common room like London fog.

One of Harry's seventh-year friends, Neville Longbottom, quietly asked, "Do we know if he's alive?"

"We think he is," Ron explained, "because he sent his house elf back to his house on New Years Day with the message that we should leave him alone. We know that he was alive then, and I believe that he is alive now. He's trying to figure out what to do. He has bloody Lord Voldemort inside of him. It's might take some time, but Harry will figure it out." His house mates could not help but notice the hesitation in Ron's voice.

The first week back at school passed easily enough for the returning students. It seemed the teachers needed to feel their way around the new world, same as the students, and they spent many classes on spontaneous discussions trying to make sense of the events of the past year. Ron and Ginny generally remained silent during these discussions, but Hermione participated fully in them. In fact the Head Girl could not be stopped, seemingly taking it upon herself to deal with every issue facing Hogwarts. The three of them rarely spoke of Harry Potter with each other; in fact, they spent little time together, after so many weeks of forced togetherness at Grimmauld Place.

But then it happened. While Ron gathered his books next to his neatly-made bed (courtesy of Hogwarts house elves), a fire erupted in the air, quickly forming into Fawkes. The phoenix majestically hovered just below the vaulted ceiling, then effortlessly settled down on the back of the wizard's chair. Ron gaped in astonishment, but the magical creature looked kindly at him. On his leg was an envelop.

Ron carefully stepped forward, and seeing Fawkes hold out its leg, gently removed the letter, which could only be from one person.

"Thank you, Fawkes, can you take a letter to Harry?" The phoenix trilled several notes and then disappeared in another flash. Ron did not understand its response. He examined the envelop, not made of parchment but plain white muggle paper. The following words, clearly in Harry's script, had been written: "For Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley. Please read it together."

Not since Harry's battle with Slytherin's locket had Ron ran so hard, when he had to find Madam Pomfrey. The few students sitting in the common room jerked their heads in astonishment as a flame of red hair shot past them and out the portrait hole. Ron and Hermione's Transfiguration class would start in ten minutes, he knew, but that mattered not.

Finding Hermione standing outside the classroom, he slowed down and panted a few times before huffing, "Come with me. It's important." He walked quickly away, and Hermione knew from his tone of voice that something serious had happened.

"What is it?" she asked once they rounded the corner away from the other students. Ron showed her the envelop, and without a word Hermione Granger broke into a sprint, as she knew that Ginny would be entering her Charms class momentarily. Professor Flitwick stood at the front of the large room, and Ginny could be seen seated towards the back, glancing glumly at her book.

Breathing deeply, Hermione walked up to the professor, quietly said a few words, and then walked to Ginny's desk. Naturally the younger girl looked up surprised at the unexpected appearance of the Head Girl, but as soon as Hermione whispered into her ear, she grabbed her bags and rushed out. Since they were not far from the Room of Requirement, they ran there and entered a small, well-lighted room furnished with a sofa on which all three of them could sit.

"Fawkes brought this to me just a few minutes ago. Harry wants us to read it together," Ron briefly explained, showing the girls the envelop. Hermione conjured three glasses of water for the thirsty trio while Ron opened the letter, written on lined muggle paper with a muggle pen. With anticipation in his voice, and a hint of trepidation, he began to read:

First, I want to let you know that I am alive and that I miss you three more than you can imagine. I will not lie to you. These past weeks have been the most difficult of my life, and I don't know how it will end. I'm scared.

You heard from Dobby that what remains of Tom Riddle is now inside of me. It is not a horcrux. Voldemort is everywhere inside of me. I can't think without him hearing me, and he can't think without me hearing him. It's horrible. I have tried everything to destroy him. It has to be love somehow, but no matter what I do, I can't kill him. Now I am afraid that it can't be done. I'm afraid that Lord Voldemort will die only when I die.

He is difficult to control, and he is trying to control me. We are constantly at war. I have been outside only a couple of times, but he wants me to kill everyone he sees. He is beyond rage now. He is pure anger, pure evil. I can't bear it much longer. It's too dangerous for me to see you, or to see anyone. A few times, he's almost done it. If I can't control him, eventually I will hurt someone. Or kill someone. I cannot allow that to happen.

I miss you so much. Dobby has been taking good care of me, but I feel sick all the time, I can hardly eat without throwing up, and my scar stings all the time. I haven't felt well since it happened. How much longer can I take this? I don't want to die, but I don't want to live this way. I CAN'T live this way!

Why am I writing you? Every day I think about the three of you all the time, and I know that you're worrying about me. Now that I've written this, I think I shouldn't have. But I will send it to you anyway, so that you know. I'm so lonely. Please write me a letter and let me know that you are fine. I haven't been getting the Prophet, and I don't know anything that's happening. Fawkes will return tomorrow morning. Please give him your letter. An owl won't be able to find me.

Whatever happens, I want you to know that I love all three of you, more than you'll ever know. If my life must end, at least I know that I fulfilled my destiny. Maybe I'm not supposed to live any longer. Now that Voldemort can only torment me and not the rest of the world, my presence is no longer necessary. I hoped it would be over after I killed him, that I could live a long, normal, boring life. Whatever happens, I know that you will remember me, and that is a great comfort.

Whatever you do, DO NOT TRY TO FIND ME! I am extremely dangerous. You cannot save me. Nobody can.

I love each of you. Remember me kindly,

Finally Hermione broke the silence, "We have to find him! That's all there is to it."

"But Harry just told us not to find him. And we have no idea where he could be. He could be anywhere," Ron responded, not exactly disagreeing with the Head Girl but pointing out the difficulties.

"Hermione's right," Ginny muttered. She shifted her weight on the sofa, turning towards Ron and Hermione, a dazed expression on her face. "Harry's going to kill himself. That's what he's trying to tell us. He's saying goodbye. If we don't find him, he'll do it. We can't let that happen!"

"Exactly!" Hermione agreed, jumping off of the sofa and pacing the room frantically, "He wants to hear from us one last time, and then he's going to end it all. We've got to write him back and convince him to wait. We can tell him we've found a way to help him get rid of Voldemort."

"But that's not true," Ron retorted, "Harry doesn't like being lied to."

"I don't care!" Hermione countered fiercely, "He can be mad at me as long as he wants. At least that means that he's still alive. If he's alive, there's still hope."

"So what are we going to do?" Ginny asked, "We have to write a letter to Harry by tonight so that Fawkes can take it to him tomorrow." An uncomfortable silence ensued.

Also pacing across the room, Ron shook his head slowly from side to side and through gritted teeth exclaimed, "We've let Harry down. Here we are back in school as if nothing has happened. Do you think Harry would have come back if one of us was in his situation? Not a chance! He'd do anything he could to help us. We've just been sitting here thinking that Harry will come through again, that he always wins no matter what. I'm the most guilty of all of us. 'Harry's tough! He'll kill Voldemort's soul somehow.' I said those exact words to some fifth years this morning. I don't know what we have to do, but going to class is not one of them. We have to devote ourselves full time to trying to find and save Harry."

Ginny and Hermione hung their heads in shame, for Ron's words stung their souls. He was right. School could wait. Everything else could wait. Now they had to try to save Harry, before it was too late.

"First thing we need to do is to write the letter. In fact, we can each write a letter so he'll have three. Let's do it right now." When Hermione finished speaking, three small desks appeared in the Room of Requirement, each with parchment, quill, ink and a chair. "OK, let's think how we're going to do this."

The three of them did not leave the Room of Requirement for five hours.

"You are what?" Professor McGonagall gasped.

"I am resigning my position as Head Girl, and I will not attend classes this term. Please let me explain, Professor," Hermione calmly restated. She had placed her badge on the headmistress' desk, and over the next fifteen minutes, she informed the professor of most of what they knew and the intention of Ron, Ginny and her to devote themselves to saving Harry's life.

"Miss Granger, I am extremely sympathetic. We all wish for Harry to overcome this latest difficulty, but I fail to see how leaving Hogwarts will help him. Obviously he has taken great pains to conceal his location. While I am not aware of the workings of the new Ministry, I have been informed that a search for Mr. Potter has been and continues to be made. But magic cannot solve all problems. A wizard, especially a wizard of Harry's abilities, can become invisible from the wizarding world with little difficulty."

"I understand your point, Professor, but please understand mine. If Harry kills himself, and I did nothing to prevent it, I will never forgive myself. You know as well as anyone that I love Hogwarts and my position as Head Girl, but they mean nothing to me right now. We know that we may be too late, but we are going to do whatever we can. At least we can say that we tried. And with all due respect to the Ministry, it does not have the resources to find him. We know Harry better than anyone. If anyone can find him, it will be us." Her voice trembled and her arms waved about wildly as she spoke, barely able to contain her composure.

The passion in the Head Girl's voice finally overcame the headmistress' understandable resistance. Without smiling, she nevertheless looked kindly upon her favorite student.

"All right, Hermione, you can stop arguing now. You have convinced me. Very reluctantly, I can assure you, but you have convinced me. Am I to understand that you wish to remain at Hogwarts even though you will not be attending classes?"

"With your permission, Professor. We need to study in the library, especially the restricted section. It may be fruitless, but I have a few ideas that I want to explore."

"You have my permission, Hermione, and my best wishes. We all want Harry back. I miss him dearly, and his recent letter to you is most distressing. Please let me know if I can be of assistance in any way."

Harry Potter anxiously removed the bulging envelop from Fawkes' leg. He rushed over to the kitchen table to open it, his bare feet leaving impressions in the carpet. As usual, he had not bothered to dress that day, clad only in a faded blue t-shirt and boxer shorts. He had nowhere to go.

"Shut up!" he told the voice inside his head. Sliding his finger roughly under the flap of the envelop, he ripped it open and pulled out the six pieces of parchment written by his three best friends. For the first time since the evening of December 31st, he felt joy. The feeling soon passed.

That day he read the three letters more times than he could count. The love that transferred itself from the page to his heart buoyed him. He knew that his letter would cause them to worry terribly, but he could not hold it in any longer. Besides, his letter did not tell even half of the story. How many times had he almost ended it all? He no longer counted.

To tell the truth, he would be dead already if not for Dobby. The house elf did not leave Harry's side that first week, as Harry tried over and over again to destroy the alien spirit inside of him. Yet he made no progress, Voldemort remained inside of him, as angry, evil and desperate as ever.

At some point during those nightmarish seven days, Harry had the large kitchen knife in his hand when Dobby raised his hand in horror, blasting the knife out of Harry's hand. When the house elf saw the despair in Harry's eyes, Dobby stunned his master with a elven spell before he could be given an order, causing Harry to remain unconscious for half a day. Poor Dobby, Harry mused. It must have been incredibly difficult for him to attack his own master, but the house elf had determined that no other option existed. On at least two other occasions (Harry's mind blurred at the memories), Dobby intervened at especially dangerous moments.

He took the letters to the imitation leather sofa where he sat so many times in recent months during his visits with Professor Dumbledore. His mentor had instructed Harry to give notice to the landlord, but for some reason Harry could not do it. The professor had specifically entrusted Harry with the disposal of his clothing and belongings, but instead, Harry simply slipped January's rent into the box by the landlord's office before the end of December. He figured that would give him another month to deal with it. Something told him not to give up that flat.

Dobby became Harry's caretaker, doctor and psychologist. The young man's mood swung from depressed to suicidal, often several times in one day. Usually Dobby could calm his master with his simple words. When Harry cried that he could stand it no longer, Dobby would remind him of all that he had accomplished, of his greatness as a wizard, and that he had many friends who loved him. Somehow or other, the little elf always seemed to know what to say.

Only in one area did they argue. Harry refused to rescind his order not to contact his friends, or anyone in the magical world for that matter. Dobby pleaded that he be allowed to contact "Harry Potter's Granger friend or Weasel friends," but Harry angrily rejected this advice.

"I'd rather die at my own hand than take the chance that I'd hurt one of them," Harry chided his slave, "You don't know what he wants me to do to them. You don't have to hear each one of his thoughts."

"But you are the strongest wizard, Harry Potter. Weasel friends and Granger friend can be careful. Dobby can make sure that Harry Potter does not harm friends. Harry Potter must have his friends to kill the dark lord."

"HIS NAME IS VOLDEMORT. BLOODY LORD VOLDEMORT," Harry exploded, "AND HE'S TRYING TO TAKE OVER. HE WANTS ME TO KILL YOU TOO, DOBBY." He raised his hand seeking to call his wand, his eyes glazed with uncontrolled rage.

Dobby raised his voice as well, though he did not shout.

"Harry Potter will not kill Dobby because Harry Potter is a great and good wizard. Dobby is not afraid of Harry Potter." And in fact the tiny house elf displayed no evidence of fear.

Time and again, Dobby's underlying calmness, even when on the outside his arms flailed about, managed to be just enough sanity for Harry to grasp. Harry did not lose control.

His friends had returned to Hogwarts, which was news to Harry. Of course, it made sense. The school surely would have reopened as soon as possible after Voldemort's demise, but Harry never considered it. Hermione told him that Shacklebolt had been appointed as Minister of Magic, and Harry nodded his head approvingly. Never his favorite, Shacklebolt did strike Harry as honest and capable. For the most part, the wizarding world had started on its road to recovery, and Harry felt satisfaction. He had done what needed to be done, and the world had no further need of him.

"Please don't do anything rash, Harry," Hermione had written, "We are working on a way to separate you from Voldemort's spirit. There is a way! I know you are suffering, but please let us help you. You can't do it alone!" Harry smiled.

"Nice try, Hermione," he muttered to himself. No spell could heal him. No potion could remove Voldemort from his body and soul. His brainy friend simply wanted to keep him alive and was willing to lie if necessary. Harry appreciated her effort.

All three letters overflowed with emotion, but never did Harry come close to crying. Tears were things of the past. Yet his heart filled with their love, and thoughts of ending his life receded for the moment. His life was hopeless, but he did have friends who loved him.

Maybe his life was not hopeless after all.


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter 39

The Girls Are Going to Go Crazy

Harry Potter had a problem. Well, he had a lot of problems, but one problem needed to be resolved quickly. He needed cash. With the end of January in sight, February's rent soon would come due, and Harry lacked British Pounds.

He could conjure the bills, naturally an illegal act. Moreover, conjured bills only last for a week or two before disappearing, which not only would be unfair to the landlord but likely would cause an unwanted visit. Only one option existed. Harry needed to visit Gringotts, withdraw some galleons, and convert some of them to pounds. This presented the problem of how to accomplish this without being recognized. He could not avoid recalling his visit to Diagon Alley the previous August, when the crowd of well-wishers surrounded him. A repeat of such an event now could end in tragedy.

Finally Harry and Dobby developed a plan. The house elf briefly left the flat, satisfied that Harry would not harm himself, to inform the goblins at the bank of the imminent arrival of its reclusive customer. Say what you will about goblins, they know how to keep a secret, and they are discreet. Upon Dobby's return, Harry dressed himself in a thick black cloak, which would not look out of place on the brisk, cold, late January afternoon. Transfiguring his glasses into opaque sunglasses, pushing his long black hair over his forehead, and pulling the hood of the cape as far forward as he could, Harry satisfied himself that he would not be recognized during the short visit to Diagon Alley.

Naturally, a customer could not apparate within the bank, so Harry had to appear at the normal apparation site about two blocks from Gringotts. As soon as he arrived, he felt the cold air buffet his face, and he pulled the cape and hood around him more tightly. Glancing around the crowded street, for the public had returned with glee to the shopping area, nobody appeared to be paying him any attention, so Harry strode forward as briskly as he could in his weakened condition.

Benjamin Duval walked leisurely in the opposite direction, carrying his camera equipment. One of the top photographers for the Daily Prophet, his spirits had never been higher since the defeat of Voldemort. Returning to his job on Diagon Alley, life finally started treating him well. He gained some notoriety the previous year when he took a spontaneous shot of Harry Potter and Hermione Granger gazing lovingly at each other, right here on Diagon Alley. One of his best photographs, he freely admitted, even if the product of luck. In normal times, it may have won him an award.

Approaching Gringotts from the other direction, the tall sandy-haired photographer noticed the cadence of a thin young man wrapped in a dark black cloak. Something struck him as familiar about the potential subject of his next photograph, which is how he considered everyone he met. Professional instinct caused him to pull out his camera, but immediately he put it away, his current location too distant for a good shot. Instead, from his bag he quickly pulled out his omnioculars, not a cheap version like Harry's, but a professional unit. Unobtrusively he stepped to the side of the street and focused on his subject, deftly turning various dials. Who was this person? What was so interesting about him?

Luck blessed Benjamin Duval again. A frigid gust of wind directly into the young man's face blew the hood of his cape off of his head, revealing a tangle of long black hair. An instant later, the gust blew back his hair to expose the most famous mark in all the magical world. Duval could not breathe. Not more than two seconds later, Harry Potter recovered his head and could no longer be recognized, but the photographer knew he had the shot. This moment would change his life - a photographer's dream.

The subject entered the bank, so Duval edged his way to a secluded nook across from the entrance to Gringotts. After waiting for half an hour, he figured that the Potter boy should be leaving soon, but ten minutes later Benjamin still waited. Then from the corner of his eye he saw Harry from behind, already close to the apparation zone.

"The side entrance! He left by the side entrance!" The professional photographer kicked himself for not anticipating this, but no matter, he had what he wanted.

Turning around, he practically ran back to the Daily Prophet's office to view his film. When a few colleagues and he watched it for the first time, they stood speechless. Could this truly be Harry Potter? The scar clearly indicated his identity, but the change in the boy almost defied belief. His already thin face had become gaunt, his high cheek bones protruding above his jaw, weariness etched into his forehead. The long black hair tussled by the wind set off the features of his face like a frame, and the dark reflective sunglasses cloaked him with mystery. Despite the hidden eyes, the face exuded a tortured soul. The Boy Who Lived may be alive, but he was suffering. And he was dangerous.

Publishing omniocular film rarely occurred. Special and expensive paper had to be used, coated with an especially complicated potion which allowed the image from the apparatus to be transferred to the page. The Prophet last incurred the extra expense for Victor Krum's famous dive at the last Quidditch World Cup. But the editors of the daily in this instance never considered the cost. Staffers threw together a special edition in a matter of three hours, and a flock of owls began delivering them all over the country - right around supper time.

Dinner in the Great Hall of Hogwarts Castle neared its end when the owls arrived. Hermione, Ron and Ginny already finished their chosen desserts and had just left their bench when the flutter of wings halted them in their tracks. A old grey owl swooped down and dropped the special edition into the Hermione's hands. Other owls dropped their cargo onto other subscribers, and a hush fell over the hall. The news had been so positive these past weeks, but a special edition in the middle of the week could only mean one thing: bad news.

Hermione quickly sat down, and the two Weasleys filled the seats on each side of her. Ron cleared the plates and utensils from in front of them. Quickly breaking the seal of the roll-up newspaper, she spread it out on the table for the three of them to see, as well as a small crowd of students peering over their shoulders. Hermione and Ginny gasped, covering their mouths with their hands. Throughout the Great Hall, similar gasps could be heard, followed by frenzied whispering. After a minute or so, a number of female voices also could be heard - appreciative female voices.

The Prophet devoted the entire special edition to the sighting of Harry Potter. About five seconds from Benjamin Duval's film played on the top half of the front page. Wind blew off the hood, revealing the face of their great friend. But what had one month of internal torture done to him? They stared at the scene, which repeated itself over and over. Ginny could not contain her emotions, and tears streamed freely down her face. Could this be the same person they last saw on New Years Eve?

Ron grabbed the paper, stood up, and helped Ginny to stand. The three of them left to find a more private location, ending up once again in the Room of Requirement. They quietly studied the moving photograph and then read the accompanying articles. In reality, the Profit could report no news other than the fact that Harry entered Gringotts, presumably to withdraw money. Only two conclusions could be drawn: Harry still lived and he needed money. Yet the newspaper managed to fill four pages, reviewing the tragic and triumphant life of The Boy Who Lived, commenting on his changed appearance, and gently criticizing the Ministry for not doing more to help the boy who saved their world.

"He looks terrible," Ron commented for the fourth time.

"Yes, he does," Hermione agreed, "but he also looks fantastic. I mean, the girls are going to go crazy over this." Ginny nodded knowingly.

"You mean, they'll like this?" Ron asked incredulously.

"Look at that face," Ginny explained, "We know what it's supposed to look like, so to us it looks wrong. But if you don't know Harry well, then you see a handsome, mysterious, dangerous man. It's an incredible picture."

"The good news is that if he needed to withdraw money, he must not be thinking about killing himself, at least not for awhile.." Hermione pulled the picture towards her again. "I know he looks terrible, but on the other hand, he doesn't seem to be unhealthy. Look at how he walks and moves. Dobby must be keeping him in decent condition. Who knows where he would be without that elf."

Benjamin Duval's photograph immediately turned into a cultural icon. Within days, owls delivered posters of the mysterious and dangerous Harry Potter all over the country. At Hogwarts, his face adorned the walls of almost every dormitory room, and the girls unabashedly swooned over it. Hermione and Ginny could not prevent pangs of jealousy that so many girls drooled over Harry. Their Harry. Most of the girls behaved themselves when "Harry's girls" walked nearby, trying to avoid their wrath, but when they moved out of earshot, . . . . The boys admired the poster too, though more discreetly. They wished that they could be mysterious and dangerous too. Harry Potter's portrait became the wizard version of Che Guevara's.

Owls swarmed the offices of the Daily Prophet and the Ministry with letters of support for Harry and demands that more be done to help him. After a short honeymoon, Kingsley Shacklebolt faced his first crisis as Minister of Magic, but unlike previous Ministers, he tackled it head on. He issued a statement explaining that the Ministry did not know Harry's current location, that Harry did not wish to be found, and that Shacklebolt would do everything in his power to help the young man. He ended with an impassioned plea directly to Harry to contact him personally.

Hermione, with assistance from Ron and Ginny, examined countless texts in the restricted section of the library, reading explanations of dark magic that made their skin crawl. After a few days, however, she became increasingly convinced that they were wasting their time.

"Nothing like this has ever happened before," she finally conceded, "We have to go back to what we know. Voldemort cannot stand the presence of love. Somehow that is how Harry has to get rid of him. The most important thing now is for us to find him. Any ideas?" The three sat silently for several moments.

Finally Ron offered his thoughts, "Let's go over what we know. Harry is suffering but is being cared for. He must have some sort of shelter. Didn't look to me like he's been out in the open or living in a cave. Obviously he could be anywhere, but it's more likely that he's someplace that he knows. What are the possibilities?"

"Good, Ron," Hermione praised her great friend, "Where has Harry been before? Of course, his aunt and uncle's house in Little Whinging, but I thing we can rule that one out. We know he's not at Grimmauld Place or the Burrow. Where else has he been?"

"How about the Shrieking Shack?" Ron practically screamed, "He's been there before, and nobody ever goes there. I bet you that he's there." Ginny's face brightened at her brother's optimism, but Hermione's lips gradually frowned.

"You could be right, but I doubt it. I don't think the Shrieking Shack would be secure enough for Harry. It's right next to Hogsmeade, one of the biggest wizarding cities in Britain. No, I don't think Harry is anywhere in the magical world. He's in the muggle world somewhere. Remember, he wrote his letter on muggle paper." The two Weasleys looked downcast at Hermione's logic, but they knew she was right.

"Where else has he been in the muggle world?" Ginny asked dejectedly.

"I don't know," a frustrated Ron replied, "I wish Dumbledore was still alive. He always seemed to figure these things out." Hermione jumped to her feet at Ron's statement.

"OF COURSE! DUMBLEDORE! How could I be so stupid!"

"What are you talking about?" the Weasleys asked simultaneously.

"Don't you remember? Harry told us Dumbledore lived in a muggle flat before he died. That's where Harry went to visit him all the time. If Harry didn't turn in the keys to the landlord, he could still use it. Maybe that's why he had to go to Gringotts. February is just a day away. He has to pay the rent. In muggle money. It all makes sense!"

Ron and Ginny smiled slightly at Hermione's enthusiasm, but they knew that they still had a long ways to go.

"You're probably right, Hermione," Ron admitted, "but that still doesn't get us any closer to finding him. Harry never said where the flat is. We don't have an address or description."

"I know, and I could be entirely wrong," the Head Girl conceded, "but at least we have an idea now."

Calendars turned to the month of February, and Harry's volatile mood swings continued. For a few days after receiving the letters from his friends, he avoided the most extreme lows, but soon the boost provided in those letters evaporated. He fell right back to where he started. Continually nauseous, suffering constant headaches from his burning scar, and endlessly battling the remnants of Tom Riddle for control, Harry's life descended into a living hell.

In fact, the thought of his friends became an obsession. On the one hand, he would give anything to be with them again, to laugh with Ron, to embrace Hermione and Ginny. But violent thoughts continually plagued him. For brief moments, hatred broke though his controls, and he wanted to kill them. He quickly suppressed these urges, but then again he lived like a hermit, specifically in order to avoid potential targets. Voldemort's thoughts became increasingly desperate and malevolent, and little by little they beat down on Harry's will.

During the first days of February, he came to a conclusion. He could not continue this way. Why should he? This was not a life, holed up in a tiny flat afraid to step out the door. Either he allowed his friends back into his life with the hope that their love would unlock the key to eliminating his uninvited guest, or he would not risk the possibility that he might harm them. Or even kill them.

He could not risk it. He could not place his life above theirs. He decided.

Dobby noted with desperation the darkening of Harry's mood. His master brooded continually, often times motionless for hours. The elf tried everything to raise his spirits. He begged his master to allow him to bring his friends so that they could help him. Harry consistently refused and finally forbade Dobby from mentioning it further. In fact, Harry began issuing orders to his slave more often, something he almost never did in the past. Dobby had no choice but to obey; the enchantment over him too strong to break.

Harry even refused to answer the letters from his friends, despite their requests and Dobby's urging.

"There's no need," the young wizard would repeat, "There's no use." The master was preparing to kill himself, and Dobby could do nothing to prevent it.

Finally one morning, Harry sat silently, ignoring Dobby's attempts to induce conversation. Once the young wizard completed his mental preparations, he turned to his friend and slave. His eyes betrayed his affection, but his voice sounded cold and firm.

"Dobby, leave me for two hours. I need to be alone. Come back in two hours."

"But Harry Potter, Dobby has much work to do here. Please allow Dobby to stay."

"I am not asking, Dobby. I appreciate everything you have done for me. You have been a great friend and companion, but I have to do this. This is an order. Leave me for two hours."

Dobby had to leave. As a slave, he had no choice. The enchantment could not be broken. But if he left, Harry Potter surely would kill himself. Looking up at his master, he saw a face pale as the moon and eyes glazed with death. What could he do to prevent this? What could he do short of disobeying a direct order?

"Leave now, Dobby. That is an order." The diminutive elf did not move. Harry's eyes glared at his slave with increasing intensity. "GO NOW!"

Dobby took a step back as if ready to disappear, but instead he grimaced and mouthed shakily, "I will not, Harry Potter. I cannot allow Harry Potter to do what he plans. Dobby will not leave Harry Potter."

"I GAVE YOU A DIRECT ORDER, DOBBY. YOU ARE MY SLAVE. YOU MUST DO WHAT I DEMAND." Harry's voice shook and did not sound like his.

"Harry Potter must not kill himself. Dobby will not permit it!" The elf trembled from the effort to disobey Harry and the fear of how his master would react.

"You disobeyed me. You disobeyed a direct order," Harry whispered in astonishment, "Do you love me so much that you can disobey my order?"

"Dobby loves Harry Potter that much. Harry Potter is the greatest wizard Dobby has ever known. Harry Potter must not give up hope. Please. Let Dobby contact your Granger friend and Weasel friends. Dobby knows that they want to help you. Harry Potter cannot kill the dark lord by himself. Please Harry Potter. Let your friends help."

Dobby's disobedience shocked Harry to the core, and he staggered to the sofa, falling into it. His resolve evaporated.

"But I can't go on, Dobby. I can't get rid of him. It's hopeless. Sooner or later I will hurt someone. I'll kill someone. I can't let that happen."

"Your friends do not care. They want to help Harry Potter. Let them come." Harry fell sideways onto the sofa.

His will wavered, but he whispered, "I can't. I can't."

After Hermione's deduction of Harry's probable hiding place, the three friends rapidly determined that they lacked the means to locate the needle in the haystack. Mostly out of desperation, Hermione entered the headmistress' office in order to run her ideas past McGonagall. Perhaps she could help, though Hermione could not imagine how. To her surprise, she did not find the headmistress in the office. Hermione should have turned around and returned later, but off to the left she saw Dumbledore's library. Only rarely had she browsed among the professor's volumes. Could there be anything there that could shed light on the problem?

For several minutes she walked among the rare and valuable books, occasionally paging through a volume, but she saw nothing even remotely of use. She jumped when she heard a familiar voice from the far wall, her heart leaping into her throat.

"Can I be of any service to you, Miss Granger? I am, of course, intimately familiar with this library."

"Professor Dumbledore!" the witch gasped, her hand jumping to her chest, "You're awake!" From across the office, the ancient wizard with the long white beard and half glasses gazed down benevolently from his portrait.

"Indeed, Miss Granger, I came to life, so to speak, some time ago. I could not help but notice that you are searching for something in my library. Perhaps I could be of assistance."

Recovered from her shock, Hermione quickly walked over to the portrait, which hung high above her, and explained, "I came here to see Professor McGonagall, but when she wasn't here, I checked your library because . . ., because we're desperate, Professor. Harry is going to kill himself if we don't find him." Her voice choked. Concern creased the portrait's face.

"What would push Mr. Potter to such drastic action?"

Hermione regained her composure and realized that before her stood exactly the person she needed to consult.

"Professor, do you remember being with Harry before you died? I mean, before you really died, not what happened here at Hogwarts with Draco Malfoy."

"Miss Granger, I am but a portrait, as you are aware, imbued with the characteristics of Albus Dumbledore and with some of his memories. However, a portrait does not contain all the thoughts and recollections of the wizard himself." The portrait paced the confines of the frame deep in thought. "That said, I do have some visions of meeting with Harry in a small flat shortly before my death. Is this important?"

"It's more than important, Professor," Hermione urged, her neck tilted back, "Harry's life depends on it. After you helped Harry destroy the final horcrux, the Hogwarts medal, you died. Harry then killed Lord Voldemort on New Years morning at Godric's Hollow, but whatever was left of the spirit of Voldemort entered Harry's body. Harry had a piece of Voldemort's soul inside of him from what happened when he was a baby, and Voldemort had no where else to go. We think Harry is holed up in the flat where you lived last year, but nobody can find him. He sent us a letter a week ago, and he can't take it anymore. If we don't find him, he's going to kill himself, but he won't tell anybody where he is because he's afraid he'll hurt them." The words cascaded uncontrollably from the Head Girl's mouth. "Do you remember the address of your flat?"

The figure in the portrait scratched his chin in deep concentration.

"Regrettably, I do not recall the specific address. Such minute details are not imbedded in a portrait's memory. However, I do have a general recollection of the flat and the area of London where it is located. Perhaps that would be of assistance."

"Anything, Professor," Hermione pleaded, "Any information at all. Right now, we have no where to begin."

Ron, Ginny and Hermione watched as their taxi driver briefly waved and sped away. The Head Girl's hand held a small pad on which she had written the information provided by Dumbledore's portrait. Based on this data, Hermione determined that the flat had to be located in the southeastern part of London in a working class residential area. The painted figure remembered a few street names and provided a reasonably detailed description of the building in which the flat was located - a brick-faced three or four story structure on a tree-lined street close to a Chinese restaurant. Based on this information, Hermione narrowed the probable location down to a three or four square mile area. She hoped.

The three teens looked around in all directions, the two Weasleys feeling the nerves of standing in an entirely muggle neighborhood. The weather could have cooperated better. A freezing drizzle floated in the air, blending in with the grey clouds to create a dreary, depressing atmosphere. The wizard and witches dressed warmly in muggle clothing, wearing several layers. Ron wore no hat, but the girls pulled wool coverings over their hair and ears. None of them commented on the uncomfortable conditions.

The muggle-born witch took charge, "Right. Ron, we're here," Hermione indicated on a London street map. Each of them carried one, and after Hermione spent a good hour back at Hogwarts teaching the pure bloods, they all knew how to read it. "You cover these streets over here. Ginny, take the area just north of us, and I'll check to the west. Keep track of where you've been so we don't walk the same streets twice. Remember, if you think you've found the building, don't go in! Tap the medallion, and we'll meet back here. In any event, we'll meet back here in three hours." The other two nodded their heads nervously, but all three of them felt a sense of relief that finally they could act instead of talk.

"Don't get discouraged," Ron added, "This could take a long time, but sooner or later we'll find it."

Three hours later, six tired feet reunited. After exchanging their findings, they stopped for a brief lunch, enjoying the respite from the wet weather, before embarking on their assignments for the afternoon. Finally, late in the afternoon Ginny thought she may have found it. In front of her stood a three-story brick complex of flats on a tree-lined avenue. Race walking up the street, she searched for the Chinese restaurant. There it was, just a block away. It all fit. The sixth year shivered momentarily, realizing that Harry Potter, the boy she knew she still loved, almost certainly was across the street right at that very moment. She marked the location on her map and then tapped the special medallions that Hermione had created. All three immediately broke into a jog to meet at their original site. An hour later, they stood in front of the brick-faced complex.

Finding the building itself rated as a great accomplishment, but gaining entrance into Harry's flat presented another problem altogether. Hermione reached into her purse and removed two more pads of paper - muggle paper. She also pulled out two muggle ball-point pens and handed the pads and pens to her companions.

"These work a lot better than parchment and quills," she explained, "Now, this is what we're going to do."

Deep down, each of them feared their reunion with Harry. Most definitely, he would be displeased at being found, and who knew how he would react. Nevertheless, they could not turn back now. Each of the three stationed themselves at a strategic point on each of the three floors, having first performed disillusionment charms on each other. Standing still by the wall, the residents of the flats could not see them. On their pads, they sketched a map of their floors, showing the hallway and each of the doors with their numbers. The plan was simple. When an occupant entered or exited a flat, that number would be scratched off. Sooner or later, by process of elimination, Harry's flat would be determined.

It was cold and boring work. From late afternoon until midnight, they watched normal muggle folk come and go. Some left only for a few moments to take their rubbish to the bin. Others left well dressed for a night on the town. Little by little, they crossed off numbers on their pads. At midnight, Hermione left her post to gather the others. Pooling their information, they narrowed the possibilities to four flats. Exhausted and freezing, they intended to return to Hogwarts to collapse in their beds, when Hermione had one last thought.

"Just a second. Let's check their mail boxes. Usually the boxes have their names on them."

Sure enough, along an interior hallway on the first floor, they found a long row of metal mailboxes. Checking the boxes for the four possible flats, they found three mailboxes with names. Flat 316 had none. The three teens stared wide-eyed at the missing nameplate. They had located their quarry.


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter 40

You Must Fear Me

"What do you think he's going to do?" Ginny asked nervously as she picked at her breakfast.

"He'll be mad," replied Ron simply, "He didn't want us to go looking for him." This mattered not to Hermione.

"The important thing is that we have to be careful. I don't think he'll attack us, but we can't assume anything."

Their normal black robes covered their muggle clothing, for they intended to leave all wizarding clothing behind once they left Hogwarts after breakfast. Ron had piled food onto his plate out of habit, but he barely managed to eat half of the eggs and sausage provided by the Hogwarts house elves. Still, he exceeded the girls, who managed only a few bites. Benjamin Duval's recent photograph of Harry haunted them. The Harry Potter they knew so well had little resemblance to the Harry Potter in that picture, whom they intended to meet that morning.

"Do you think we can do any good?" Ginny pondered, "I mean, just because we're there doesn't mean Harry's going to get rid of You Know . . . Voldemort."

"I know . . ." Hermione muttered, her voice trailing off. The three of them had worked so hard to find Harry, that they had not had enough time to develop a plan to help him. So far the only idea involved moving Harry to Grimmauld Place, where they would install themselves. They would stay with Harry all the time, smothering him with their love in the hope that Voldemort's spirit could not survive in that environment. It was not much of a plan.

"Give me a few minutes," Hermione quickly requested as she rose from her seat at the Gryffindor table in the Great Hall, "I want to talk to Professor McGonagall for a minute. Meet me at the front door at nine o'clock. Ginny and Ron stared at the Head Girl's robe flowing behind her as she rushed out of the hall.

Hermione knew the headmistress' schedule. McGonagall never returned to her office after breakfast. This suited Hermione perfectly, for she had no intention to speak with the headmistress. Some instinct pulled her towards the painting of Albus Dumbledore. Reaching the darkened office, she saw the former headmaster sitting comfortably in his chair, eyes closed.

Hermione hated to disrupt such a serene scene, but she spoke loudly nonetheless, "Professor Dumbledore! May I speak with you, please?"

The painted headmaster had not been sleeping after all, as he immediately opened his eyes, and upon recognizing the talented young witch, he smiled.

"How may I be of service, Miss Granger?" The old man straightened in the chair, gently rearranging his robe and adjusting his half glasses.

"We found Harry, sir. I mean, we know where he's staying, in your old flat, and in a few minutes Ron, Ginny and I are going to see him. We're all nervous about it. To tell the truth, sir, I'm terrified. I feel like I know Harry better than anyone, but I have no idea how he's going to react to us. I'm not sure I know this Harry. He's a very powerful wizard, Professor. If for any reason we have to defend ourselves, I'm sure he could defeat the three of us without even trying."

"Certainly I understand your nerves, Hermione, but from what you related to me before, I doubt that Harry will act violently upon seeing you. He will greet you reluctantly, but he will greet you. However, you must be careful after you have been with him for awhile. That is when his controls can become lax and Voldemort's spirit may momentarily overcome him."

Hermione nodded her understanding, and tilted her head back again in order to see the portrait high above her.

"What really bothers me, professor, is that I don't know what to do to help Harry kill Voldemort's spirit. I don't know if it can be done. If it can't be done, I can't blame Harry for wanting to . . . ." She could not finish the unthinkable thought.

Dumbledore gazed severely at the young witch, his eyes scrunched in deep thought. After a lengthy silence, he decided upon his words.

"Miss Granger, I am not sure how Voldemort's spirit can be removed from Harry's. I have my suspicions, but the thought is too terrible to speak. Harry would not wish me to speak it, and I believe he would be correct." The old man in the portrait paused again, reconsidering the matter. "No, I cannot speak it. I am sorry Miss Granger."

"Is there any other way? A spell, or incantation, or ritual?" Hermione asked desperately, grasping at straws, "In muggle religions, they have exorcisms to rid people of demons. There must be some way!"

"If there is another way, I am not aware of it. This is a most unusual situation, Hermione, one that to my knowledge has never occurred before." The old man by now had risen from his seat, pacing the confines of his portrait. "Perhaps a solution will present itself. I must confess, however, that I am not optimistic. Of course, many times during my long life my suppositions turned out to be incorrect. I can only hope that the same occurs with regard to Harry."

The young woman stared at her feet as she stood a few feet from the portrait, the painted Dumbledore towering over her. Slowly she raised her head to look up.

"Harry told Ron and me one time that if Voldemort takes over his soul, we have to kill him. I told him I didn't think I could do it."

Dumbledore gazed down without any trace of surprise, but his eyes filled with sadness. The unspoken question, he knew, was whether he believed that Ron and Hermione in fact should comply with Harry's order. After a pregnant pause, the old man in the painting finally spoke as plainly as he could.

"Hermione, Harry is correct. If Voldemort is able to exert dominion over Harry's soul, the world faces a tremendous danger. As you stated, Mr. Potter is an extremely powerful wizard, at least as powerful as Tom Riddle, probably more. The answer to your dilemma is terrible but simple."

Hermione knew the answer before Dumbledore spoke it, but she needed the reinforcement that the professor provided. Her decision remained firm. If Harry had to be killed because Voldemort's spirit prevailed, she would do it. Alone. Nobody else would have to be involved, and she would bear the consequences of her actions. Alone.

Finally she asked one last question, "Do you think I'll have to?"

"That I do not know, Miss Granger. More likely Mr. Potter would take matters into his own hands before circumstances reached that point." Hermione's eyes glazed over in contemplation, and the headmaster let her ponder for several moments.

"Thank you, Professor," she finally whispered. She took two steps towards the door, when Dumbledore's final words halted her progress.

"You are a brave young woman, Miss Granger. It is far easier to sacrifice one's own life for the good of the world than to sacrifice the life of another. I pray that neither sacrifice shall be necessary."

Dobby kept an especially close eye on Harry after the house elf had managed once more to prevent his master's suicide. The shocking refusal to obey a direct order somehow jarred Harry's sensibilities, and for the moment he could consider his situation more clearly. Thoughts of ending his life temporarily ceased, but the underlying despair and hopelessness remained. What was he to do?

Perhaps his only consolation consisted in the fact that Voldemort enjoyed being inside of Harry's body even less than Harry enjoyed hosting the spirit. Harry's basic goodness and his unswerving love for his friends caused the young man's body to serve as an Azkaban prison for the evil being. While the wizard always sensed Voldemort's presence and mood, they no longer communicated intentionally with each other. The remnants of the dark lord had attempted to control his nemesis, to overcome his defenses, but the boy proved too strong. Now Voldemort realized that he had driven Harry to within a hair of ending his life, which consequentially would have ended the spirit's existence as well. Patience replaced rage. The dark lord's spirit would bide its time, looking for opportunities to advance its cause. It had to prey on Harry when at his weakest.

The two days that passed since the aborted suicide had been the best Harry experienced in the new year. His nausea subsided, and he had been able to eat more than normal. His level ten depression had perhaps improved to a level eight, though he remained far from being the life of a party. Other than Dobby, he had no one with whom to talk, and over the weeks, he spoke less and less. So far on this morning, he had spoken exactly four words since he had risen: "That's fine," when Dobby asked if his planned breakfast was satisfactory, and "Thank you," when Dobby placed the food on the table. Internally, however, his mind never stopped.

Thus it is not difficult to imagine the shock that ran through his body when he heard the doorbell ring. Harry had not heard that sound since before Dumbledore died, when the pizza delivery man arrived. Dobby jumped into the air as well, and looked at his master for instructions. Harry stood up abruptly and reached out his arm. His wand, stored in a drawer in the bedroom, shot out of its confines at Harry's call.

"Don't answer it," Harry whispered to Dobby. Probably someone at the wrong door, he figured. If he stayed quiet, the person would go away. But the next sound shocked Harry even more.

"It's us, Harry," Ron proclaimed loudly, "We're coming in." Harry heard a muffled "alohomora" and the clicking of the lock, and before he had a chance to react, the door opened, and his three best friends marched through, closing the door behind them. Dressed in typical muggle clothing, blue jeans, sweaters and scarves, they each carried a small rucksack carrying a few belongings.

Harry's wand reached his hand just as his friends entered the flat, and he stood frozen to the floor. None of the four of them smiled, and for several moments a nervous silence fell on the room. Harry noticed that his wand pointed at the intruders, and he immediately lowered it.

Finally Harry turned towards Dobby and angrily spat, "I ORDERED YOU NOT TO TELL THEM."

Before the cowering elf could defend himself, Hermione practically shouted, "HE DIDN'T TELL US, Harry. We found you ourselves. Dumbledore's portrait remembered enough to put us in the general area, and then we were able to figure out the rest. Dobby didn't do anything wrong."

Harry directed his glare away from the elf and towards his friends.

"You shouldn't have come," he muttered, turning away from his friends and moving the four steps to the window, his wand trembling in his right hand, "I asked you not to come." He pulled the curtain back a few inches and examined the activities on the street three stories below.

"Would that have stopped you if it was one of us in your shoes?" Ron responded. They all knew the answer.

"Well, you're here," Harry stated simply, "What do you want?" Their friend's welcome could hardly be termed heartwarming.

"We want you to let us help you," Ginny replied just as simply. Harry still resembled the Benjamin Duval photo, without the sunglasses and cape. His cheek bones seemed to protrude even farther, his hair had grown longer than ever, well below his neck, and his face was haunting in its gauntness. He had lost a lot of weight, and the black t-shirt he wore, which they had seen him wear dozens of times before, hung off his shoulders like a bed sheet. Given the cool weather, he had pulled on a pair of black sweat pants earlier that morning, but only wore white socks on his feet..

"Thanks. I appreciate it. I really do. But there is nothing you can do. You can't stay here. I'm too dangerous." Harry had become so non-verbal in recent times that he seemingly could not form a sentence more than a few words long. He continued to look out the window.

"We're not leaving, Harry," Hermione declared with finality, taking a few steps towards her friend, "Maybe you're right. Maybe there is nothing we can do. But we're not going to leave you." Harry continued to stare out the window, not reacting to her words, so she took another couple steps across the tiny sitting room, now only a few feet away from him. "You've done so much for us, so much for the whole world. It's time you let us do something for you."

Harry dropped his head, but he would not turn around. Deep inside of him, he could not avoid feeling relief and joy that his friends had found him, but he was scared. Suddenly all the muscles in his body tensed. Hermione gently touched his left arm, just below the sleeve of his shirt, and gingerly pulled on it to turn him around. Voldemort immediately reacted, rushing though Harry's body in a state of panic.

"MOVE!" Harry yelled, and Hermione jumped back a step. She saw his body tremble, and she and her friends shook in fear. Harry had the wand in his hand, and they knew all too well what he could do with it. Inside his body, he felt the rage surge, trying to overcome his resistance. _Kill them,_ it told him, _They must die._ His wand arm shook violently as he tried to control it. Suddenly he turned violently towards Dobby, observing from the kitchen. Harry lifted his wand, and Hermione started to duck, but then she saw Harry throw the wand as hard as he could at Dobby, who immediately raised his hand to slow the speed of the projectile. The elf caught it easily a second later.

"GET IT AWAY FROM ME!" Harry ordered, fear in his voice. He closed his eyes, stood up straight, and breathed in deeply several times, finally bringing Voldemort's spirit under control. His three friends continued to shake from the realization that their friend came close to losing control. None of the four moved a muscle for half a minute, Harry breathing more regularly now, resting his head against the wall next to the window.

Hermione fretted that she had almost caused a catastrophe with her first attempt to reach out to her friend. Now, however, he no longer held his wand and seemed to have calmed down. She needed to show him that they would not leave, that no matter what, they would not abandon him. She inhaled a deep breath before taking the two steps towards Harry, whose eyes remained closed. Her hand reached out, trembling noticeably, touching his left arm again.

Harry did not resist and moved haltingly to face his friend. Though her heart pounded in her chest, she slid her arms between Harry's and edged her torso next to his. It took a long time to complete the process, but finally Hermione succeeded in embracing her best friend, wrapping her arms across his back, but not squeezing them. Initially Harry did not respond, but eventually he allowed nature to take its course, and he rested his arms gently on the girl's back. He appreciated Hermione's bravery, for he could feel her anxiety.

"Don't worry," he whispered, "I'm OK right now. I'm in control." Hermione took that as a invitation to tighten the embrace, and the two friends readjusted their arms and gently squeezed each other. He could feel her relax little by little, and then her chest slightly trembled, and Harry realized that Hermione was crying. A moment later she audibly sobbed, the emotion of the moment and of the last months overcoming her.

That set off Ginny, who with tears streaming from her eyes approached Harry. Hermione continued to cry quietly into Harry's shoulder, but as Ginny approached, Harry released his left arm and moved the older girl to his right side. He invited Ginny to come near with his free arm. The red head silently accepted the invitation, and in a moment, both of the girls embraced him. Ron stood back observing. Harry and his eyes met, and Ron could see the hollowness. Perhaps the emotion of the two females moved him, but it could not penetrate far. Harry's heart and soul remained little affected. He shed no tears.

After embracing their friend for a long time, the two girls released their hold and wiped the remaining wetness from their cheeks.

"Sorry, Harry," Ginny murmured, "but it's been so hard to find you, and we've been worried sick. We thought you might . . . ." She could not finish the sentence.

"You thought I might kill myself," Harry offered coldly, completing the thought, "If it wasn't for Dobby here, I would have." They all gazed at the embarrassed house elf until Harry added, "I wish he hadn't stopped me." The words had the effect of a bucket of ice water to the faces of his friends.

"That's why we're here, Harry," Hermione explained, "While you're still alive, there's hope. But you need us. You've always needed us just as we've always needed you. If you throw us out, then there will be no hope. I know you're not happy that we found you, but we just couldn't let you do it without even trying to help you. Can't you understand?"

"I understand. Maybe you're right, but I'm afraid that I'll hurt you. Voldemort lies low for a while, and then suddenly he surfaces, and he's terribly hard to control. It requires all my concentration. You need to be very careful around me." Harry seemed exhausted from the effort to suppress Voldemort, and his shoulders hunched forward.

"We know," Ron explained, "We know that you are not the same Harry Potter we knew before it happened. But deep down, you are still there, and we're going to do whatever we can to help that person find his way back."

Harry stepped wearily to the sofa in the small sitting room, now cramped with his three guests, and threw himself onto it, lying down on his back with his arms behind his head. He often found himself in this position, usually with his eyes closed. In this instance, however, his eyes stared emotionless at the white ceiling. Several moments passed. His friends expected Harry to respond to Ron and Hermione's remarks, but soon it became clear that Harry had no intention of speaking. The others glanced at each other, confused by Harry's actions. While they indeed were his best friends and the normal niceties of civilized society could be relaxed, his behavior could only be characterized as rude. The three of them had only just arrived, and already he was virtually ignoring them.

Dobby came to the rescue, breaking the uncomfortable silence.

"Dobby wanted Harry Potter's friends to come, but Harry Potter would not allow it. Harry Potter is afraid that he will hurt his friends, but Dobby will not allow it. Can Dobby cook breakfast for Harry Potter's friends?" The friends gave thanks that the subject had been changed.

"No thank you, Dobby," Hermione responded kindly, "We ate at Hogwarts, though to tell you the truth, I didn't eat much. Maybe you could prepare a snack for us?" Hermione did not feel the least bit hungry, but they all wanted some activity to distract from Harry's distant attitude. He continued to lie on the sofa apparently uninterested.

"Oh yes, Harry's Granger. Dobby is happy to have something to do." The elf could barely keep one foot on the ground. At last, hope existed that Harry could be saved. He rushed back to the small kitchen.

"Let me help you, Dobby," Ginny offered, happy for the opportunity to busy her hands during these uncomfortable moments.

This left Ron and Hermione standing stupidly in the tiny sitting room of the flat. They stood motionless for several moments, unsure of what they should do, when finally Harry spoke in a flat voice

"If you're going to stay, make yourself comfortable. Sit down."

His friends accepted this small indication of acceptance. Hermione sat in Dumbledore's favorite chair while Ron pulled a chair from the kitchen. Harry continued studying the ceiling but glanced once or twice as the others situated themselves.

Once they seated themselves, another uncomfortable silence ensued, until finally Harry quietly asked, "What's been happening? At Hogwarts."

And so Harry renewed his relations with Ron, Hermione and Ginny. Mostly, his three friends did the talking, informing him of the latest events at the school. An abbreviated quidditch season had been arranged, though it would not count as an "official" season, Ron explained. No house cup would be awarded this year, though teachers still awarded or subtracted points to each house out of habit. Hagrid was doing fine but cried every time he saw one of them because he would think about Harry. Harry feigned disinterest, but occasionally he interjected a question, and his friends knew that he listened. It was a start.

By the end of the afternoon, the three uninvited guests became antsy. They had not done anything all day, which apparently was exactly what Harry did (or did not do) every day. Logistics needed to be discussed, and finally Hermione broached the subject.

"Harry, we were thinking that it might be hard for all of us to stay here. This flat is pretty small for the five of us." Harry stood by the window listening but not acknowledging her. "Wouldn't it be better to return to Grimmauld Place? There would be a lot more room there, and it would be more comfortable."

The young man by the window continued to study the street below him, giving no hint that he had heard her. Hermione wondered if she should try again, or wait until later, but finally Harry turned towards them, anger in his eyes.

"I didn't ask you to come here. In fact, I specifically told you not to come. You can go wherever you want, but I'm staying right here." He stared menacingly at Hermione and then Ginny. "You really don't understand, do you? You really don't know how dangerous I am. I could kill all three of you right now. He wants me to. Why do you think I'm lying around here all day, barely saying a word? I have to concentrate all the time to control him. He's afraid now. He left me alone for awhile, but now that you three are here, he's worried. Sooner or later, he's going to try to force me to kill you." His green eyes glowed with intensity, and his hands trembled.

His friends shuddered at the outburst, but they had warned themselves earlier to be strong. Ginny did her best to appear calm.

"I'm not afraid of you, Harry, . . . ." She did not have the chance to finish her thought.

"YOU SHOULD BE! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND! YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND! YOU MUST FEAR ME!" Harry's body shook as he yelled .

"We do, Harry, we do," Hermione insisted, "and we will be careful. But we've been in a lot of dangerous situations, haven't we? At the Ministry, in the mountains, at Godric's Hollow. We are brave, Harry. We are Gryffindors!"

"We understand more than you think," Ron added, "Have you looked at yourself? There's danger written all over you. But we're not leaving! We'll stay here. We just thought it would be more comfortable at your house."

"Safety is more important than comfort," Harry countered softly, having regained his composure, "Other people can go to Grimmauld. All of your family. Remus. I can't handle that. I can barely handle you three."  
Hermione jumped forward and surveyed the sitting room.

"Right. We'll stay here tonight. When you're ready, we can move. Harry will sleep in his bedroom, and Dobby sleeps there too. I assume you don't want any of us in there with you, right? So I'll transfigure the sofa and a couple of other things into beds, and we'll sleep out here. You're right. Safety is more important."

Living with Harry Potter was no picnic. Enemy number one: boredom. Harry did virtually nothing all day long. This would not have been so bad if he participated in their conversations, but usually he paid his friends little or no attention, completely withdrawn. He did not even like watching the television, and though he did not object when Ron or Ginny turned it on, they realized that the noise bothered him. The TV usually remained off.

Enemy number two: tension. After his explosion on that first day, Ron and the girls tried to choose their words carefully. Inevitably, other explosions came.

On the fourth day, the three friends' boredom reached dire levels, such that Ron gently suggested, "Harry, why don't we go outside for a bit. Get some fresh air. We can stay right around the flat."

In response to this innocuous statement, Harry's eyes widened in fury, "YOU CAN GO ANYWHERE YOU WANT. I DIDN'T ASK YOU TO COME. I CAN'T GO ANYWHERE."

Fortunately Harry calmed down immediately after his explosions, but his friends remained constantly on edge. Moreover, conversations between the three of them had to be limited due to Harry's constant presence. Only after their friend retired to the bedroom late at night, or during his lengthy showers, could they whisper their thoughts freely.

Their late night discussions focused on enemy number three: uselessness. They felt that their presence served no purpose. True, Harry had not kicked them out, but he hardly paid them any attention. No attempt had been made to deal with Voldemort's spirit, the real problem. Finding Harry certainly had been a tremendous accomplishment, but would it result a wasted effort? Would Harry end up killing himself despite their intervention?

Finally after several days, the three huddled together late one night to reconsider the situation. They had showered, put on their night clothes, and completed the nightly ritual of converting the furniture into beds, which covered virtually the entire floor space of the sitting room. First thing in the morning, they would reverse the process.

"Harry wants us to be here," Hermione concluded, still drying her hair with a towel, "because he hasn't asked us to leave. Or he could leave himself if he wanted. Go to some mountaintop somewhere."  
"But he barely responds to us," Ginny countered with frustration, "Every time we try to get him talking about trying to solve his problem, he either ignores us or blows up. We're all cooped up in this tiny flat, and I'm going crazy." She wrapped her arms around her knees, pulling them to her chest as her back rested against he wall.

Ron allowed the two girls to go back and forth before he finally intervened, "Look. We've been expecting too much of Harry. I think we thought that we'd just barge in, hug Harry a few times, and somehow Voldemort would die. Now we know it's not that easy. We're in this for the long haul. Let's lower our goals, take baby steps."

The girls nodded silently, and for the next hour they discussed a new strategy. Over the next weeks, they progressed slowly, but they did progress. Most importantly, they put no pressure on Harry, not initiating conversations or making demands. As a result occasionally, three or four times per day at first, Harry would ask a question. This led to a brief conversation of no more than five minutes. They spoke of the mundane. None of them mentioned anything to do with Voldemort or Harry's predicament. After a week of this, the quantity and quality of the conversations increased, and everyone relaxed.

In order to relieve their boredom and cabin fever, they took turns leaving the flat for several hours at a time. This allowed them a chance to decompress their brains from the constant pressure of Harry's presence. At first Harry objected, concerned that they would betray his privacy, but after many promises, he relented with a warning.

"You will not want to see what happens if you bring someone else here." They knew that Harry did not make idle threats.

By March the pattern had been established, and Harry's mates patiently followed the plan, trusting that sooner or later a breakthrough would occur. The tension in the flat continued to decrease, and Harry seemed slightly more at ease. Certainly he talked more often and freely, for as long as an hour before he felt the need to withdraw.

Finally Harry himself raised the subject that the three companions had studiously avoided. With Ron absent while on his break, Hermione and Ginny sat in the sitting room reading while Harry occupied his accustomed spot by the window, as usual wearing his black sweats and t-shirt.

Without turning to face the girls, he broke a lengthy silence by asking, "What am I going to do? I can't live like this forever, can I? But he's still there."

Hermione and Ginny glanced at each other in shock, but they determined to make the most of this opportunity.

"We don't know, Harry," Hermione softly answered, "but you've just taken the first step. When you feel that you're ready, then maybe we can discuss our options. We haven't wanted to pressure you."

"I know I've been terrible to live with. I'm just so scared. I look out on the street and see all those people. Maybe I could go out there, I tell myself, but he's still here." Harry pointed to his chest. "He's still inside of me. I can't take that chance."

"We understand," Ginny assured him, "but you can't stay in this flat forever. Sooner or later you'll have to step out that door. Maybe at first we can go to the country or the mountains where nobody is around. You haven't left these walls for more than a month." Harry continued his examination of the street below. He desperately wanted to leave this flat and become a person again. The girls knew not to speak.

Sooner or later Harry would respond, and in fact after a minute he whispered, "Maybe that's a good idea."

Excitement coursed through the veins of Hermione and Ginny, but they carefully avoided any expression of enthusiasm.

"Would you like to go today or tomorrow?" Hermione asked casually.

"Ron's not here. When he gets back, we can go." The young wizard finally turned to face his friends. "I haven't said 'thank you' to you. I don't know what I would have done if . . . ." His chin dropped to his chest.

Ginny and Hermione exchanged glances again and nonverbally agreed. They stood up and approached Harry, and for the first time since that first day, they embraced him. This time Harry wanted them to, and he wrapped one arm around each of them, pulling the two girls tight to his skeletal body.

"We'll have a picnic, Harry. Does that sound all right?" Ginny suggested.

"Sounds nice," he whispered. The three of them held each other for a long time.


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter 41

Finish the Job

Andrew Scott stared at the poster of Harry Potter which adorned one of the walls of his small office. As soon as he saw the Benjamin Duval photograph in the Daily Prophet, the young man fell under its spell, and when the posters hit the market days later, he purchased two - one for his flat and one for his office. Andrew, tall, blond and not yet thirty, knew all about Harry Potter, but never did he imagine that their paths might cross.

Many of his coworkers at the London Advertiser noticed the poster and asked him about it. The Advertiser, a "throw-away" muggle weekly publication, consisted of a fluffy article or two followed by pages of advertisements by companies too cheap to purchase space in more circulated newspapers. Andrew's job title may have been "reporter," but he spent most of his time dealing with disgruntled advertisers. In response to the inquiries, Andrew merely stated that he happened upon the poster in a shop somewhere (he could not remember which one) and liked it enough to buy it. The coworkers universally admired the image as well.

Andrew could not perform the simplest act of magic. His family seemed to produce a squib every generation, his great uncle Ernest, his aunt Isabel, and now him. He lived in the muggle world, associated primarily with muggles, but he continued to follow the magical world through the Daily Prophet and infrequent visits with his family. His older sister, Joanna, had always taken pity on Andrew and checked up on him from time to time. She became something of a hero to him, a successful reporter for the Daily Prophet, rapidly moving up the ladder to covering more important stories until You Know Who's return the previous June. When everything fell apart after Halloween, she actually fled to his flat for a couple of weeks before moving elsewhere. Andrew knew that finding Harry Potter would be the scoop of the decade for Joanna.

Which is why Andrew Scott could barely believe the words of one of his best friends that the boy in that poster lived in her block of flats. She had seen him just the previous day with three friends walking back to his flat. An old man had lived there last year, though she did not know what happened to him. Must have died. As far as she knew, the flat remained empty until just recently when she noticed the teenagers. Thought it was strange; could not be more than seventeen or eighteen years old. Andrew casually extracted additional information from his friend. By the end of the visit, she had convinced him. Harry Potter lived in a muggle flat.

The young reporter sent an owl to his sister the previous evening, arranging for "an extremely important" meeting for 11:00 am. Joanna always arrived late, and a glance at the clock proved that this day would be no exception. Andrew fidgeted with the keyboard of his computer until finally, twenty minutes after the arranged time, Joanna Scott stepped purposefully through the doorway to Andrew's tiny office. He stood and briefly hugged his sister, then immediately closed the door.

"Can you do that silencing spell, Joanna. You're not going to want anybody else to hear this." His sister shrugged her narrow shoulders, pulled out her wand, and complied with the request. Short of stature and obsessively thin, Joanna replaced her wand and slid carefully into the room so as not to muss her painstakingly prepared blond hair.

"So what is the purpose of this 'urgent' meeting," Joanna asked in a slightly irritated voice. She had always looked out for her disadvantaged brother, but he could still be a pain in the neck at times.

"I know where Harry Potter lives."

A few days earlier, Harry enjoyed the picnic. Since Ron returned from his break late in the afternoon, the four friends decided to spend most of the next day in a remote location where they could be certain not to run into others. Ron and Hermione determined that they could apparate to the valley above McNaughton Castle, in the area well above the trail. That spot itself may not serve as the best site for a picnic, but a short walk would lead them to one of several small creeks draining the hillsides. Harry did not object.

The excitement among Ron and the girls filled the small flat that evening, even though they tried their hardest to mask their enthusiasm. Harry's psychological status remained delicate, and they did not want to douse this first flicker of light. Dobby contained himself with even greater difficulty, and busied himself, with the unnecessary assistance of Ginny and Hermione, in the preparation of a tremendous quantity of food for the picnic. Harry spoke little during the evening, but somehow the expression on his face appeared less pained. Or perhaps his friends just imagined it.

Next morning, Ron and Harry apparated to the designated spot, with Ginny arriving through Hermione's apparation. Dobby had not planned to join the foursome, it not being his place, but Harry insisted that the elf come along. He arrived a few moments after Harry set foot on the slope covered with rock and sparse grass. Within minutes, the others located a suitable site for a picnic - a rivulet two or three feet across at its widest trickling down a side canyon. Most of the canyon was steep and rocky, but the creek leveled out in a small quarter-acre clearing. The grass grew more densely in this area, and several medium-sized boulders proved convenient seats. Of course, the witches and wizards (and elf) could have conjured more comfortable seating, but then it would not have been a proper picnic. Instead, they spread out blankets on an especially lush area of turf.

"It's so nice to be out of that flat," Ginny exclaimed, breathing in the cool but comfortable air. Fortune had smiled upon them, for the unpredictable Scottish weather turned out to be clear and reasonably warm for the time of year.

Before slipping into their transfigured beds the previous evening, Ron, Ginny and Hermione reminded themselves not to pressure Harry.

"We can't overreach," Ron reminded them, "Baby steps. Just getting him there is enough for now. Don't pressure him."

Thus none of them made any effort to get Harry to do anything. For most of the morning, he either lay on the blanket or slowly walked about the small clearing. Once he dipped his hands into the icy cold water. He forced his hands to remain in the freezing creek until the numbness stung. For the first time in months, he felt something that made him feel like a real human being. Finally he had to retract his arms, but a moment later he splashed the icy water on his face.

Due to his self-imprisonment in the small flat, the normally light-skinned wizard now had skin white as a sheet. As the sun rose higher in the sky, the girls worried that Harry could burn. Hermione solved this problem by conjuring a canopy over the blankets, and by late morning, Dobby prepared the midday meal. The outdoors stimulated the appetites of the four teens, and even Harry ate a substantial amount. His stomach full, he lay down on the blanket beneath the canopy and promptly fell asleep. For four hours, he slept more soundly than he had since Godric's Hollow. His three friends relaxed, satisfied that this first step could lead to others.

When finally Harry awoke, he glanced about the clearing. Hermione sat on the grass, her back against a rock, reading a book. Ginny and Ron flicked small rocks into the rivulet, causing tiny fish to scatter in tiny ponds. Dobby, however, sat on the blanket just a few feet from his master.

"Hi, Dobby," Harry mouthed quietly, "Guess I fell asleep."

Dobby answered in his typically loud voice, attracting the attention of the others, "Harry Potter needed to sleep." Harry nodded his head in agreement. Soon the others gathered round.

"How are you feeling, Harry?" Ginny asked casually, sitting cross-legged on the grass next to him.

"All right, I guess. Haven't slept that well in a long time. Something about the air out here."

"And all that food," Ron added, "I took a snooze myself." Hermione lay down on the blanket next to Harry, and Ron sat next to his sister.

After a comfortable silence, Harry felt like broaching the subject, "I've been thinking. About my situation. I don't see a lot of good options."

"What options do you see?" Ron asked as calmly as he could.

"Well. I could kill myself so that Voldemort dies too. Already tried that, but Dobby here wouldn't let me." Harry smiled at his diminutive friend. "Don't get me wrong, I don't want to do that, but sometimes it seems like the only way."

"I know that's an option, Harry," Hermione agreed, by now sitting cross-legged on the blanket, roused by Harry's words, "but I don't think any of us are going to agree to that one. What else are you thinking?"

"Second option is to live separate from the world, except for a few trusted people, like you three. But that's so hard to do. Sooner or later they'll find me. The Daily Prophet or Witch's Weekly, or who knows what. And it's not fair to you. You have lives to live. You can't be sitting around with me all the time. I mean, you've already dropped out of school for me, but you can't do that forever. Sooner or later you have to go back." The response to this statement proved more difficult.

Finally Ginny took Harry's hand with her own and explained, "You're not just a friend to us, Harry. The four of us are much more than that. We can't just say, 'That's that! Gave it a try, but now we have to leave you.' You would never do that if it was one of us, and don't deny it!" A smile creased her lips at the last three words, and she enjoyed the feel of Harry's hand, though she could not fail to notice how lifeless it felt.

"Basically, that's what you're doing now," Hermione asserted, "and you have to admit that it's not a very enjoyable way to live."

"You're right," Harry agreed, "especially when I have to control my emotions all the time. If I remain flat, I can control him, but as soon as I become upset, he surges inside of me. So far I've been able to regain control when that's happened, but one of these days . . . ." Nobody wanted to think what would occur on "one of these days."

"What other options do you see, Harry?" Ron inquired.

Harry stared back at his best friend, and then dropped his gaze to the blanket between his knees.

"I don't see any other options."

"Well I see one, Harry," Hermione declared forcefully, "We're going to figure out how to get rid of Voldemort once and for all. There has to be a way! Work with us, and we'll try to figure it out." She could not control the passion in her voice nor the intensity in her eyes, and she feared that she overdid it, given Harry's precarious state. "When you're ready, I mean," she quickly added, trying to soften her tone. Harry reacted calmly, however, shifting on the blanket.

"I don't think it can be done. I've tried to think of everything. No potion can rid a person of a soul. There's no spell. I know it, and he knows it too. It's worse for him, you know. He can never get his body back now. All the horcruxes are gone. His only hope is to control me, but he's not having much luck. The problem is that I know what he's thinking, and he knows what I'm thinking. It's not that I 'hear' his voice; I just know what is going on in his mind. He can't hide it from me. Lately he's been holding back, biding his time, waiting for the perfect moment to try and break through my defenses. He doesn't want me to know all of this, but he can't hide it from me. The problem is that he knows everything I think too. There's no way for me to surprise him."

"But how can you be sure, Harry?" Ginny asked, tightening her grip on Harry's hand, "Don't give up hope! There must be a way. It's love, right? That's what Dumbledore told you."

Harry looked into Ginny's eyes, and for a moment she saw the pain that reached into the deepest recesses of his body. He then directed his eyes again to the blanket between his legs.

"I know because I had the chance to finish him off. But I didn't do it. I took the easy way out." He knew the others did not understand him. They did not feel what he felt that night on Godric's Hollow, the intense pain of possessing Voldemort's body. But his hunch had proved correct, he now knew, if he had only trusted it fully.

"When I possessed his body, it felt like a thousand knives stabbed me, but the love inside of me caused even more pain for him," Harry explained softly. His friends never knew exactly what happened at Godric's Hollow on New Year's Eve, and of course they never asked Harry for an explanation. They now sat tensely, awaiting Harry's next words. "But instead of concentrating on that, I forced him to stab himself with his wand. I turned it into a knife just before it entered his gut. Too much pain. I couldn't hold on. So I killed him with my knife. Hatred filled my heart when I did it, not love. I didn't trust it. I failed when I had the chance. Now it's too late."

Harry's voice trailed off into a soft monotone as he finished his brief explanation. He stared unblinkingly at the blanket. His hand still held Ginny's, but he no longer gripped it, his entire body having gone limp. His friends sat silently, now understanding a little more what had happened, and what they faced.

"Okay, now we understand more, Harry. Thank you for telling us," Hermione spoke softly, running a hand though her wind-blown hair which she had uncharacteristically tied back into a pony tail, "I still think there may be a way. Let us work on it. You just work on controlling Voldemort. Will you let us try?" Her eyes opened wide.

Harry's hair had not been pulled into a pony tail, but it should have been. The afternoon breeze had intensified, and his messy locks flicked over his forehead and into his eyes. Yet he did not seem bothered by the irritation, nor did he even appear to notice.

Instead he stared straight through Hermione, until he finally answered her question, "All right. You can try, but be careful. I just don't think that anything can be done."

An untidy stack of Daily Prophets littered the back of the shallow cave. Peter Pettigrew temporarily inhabited his human body while he read the two most recent editions, which he had just managed to acquire on his daily foray into Hogsmeade, always in his rat form. Mostly he searched for news about Harry Potter. Little real news had appeared since the omniocular sequence of the boy in front of Gringotts; nevertheless, some reference to The Boy Who Lived could be found virtually every day.

The Ministry had to absorb many complaints and accusations regarding its failure to locate Harry. The Prophet clearly egged on its readers, knowing when it had a story with staying power. But Pettigrew found himself unsatisfied, and his musings about the young wizard soon became an obsession. The animagus' life had once been saved by the boy, who now had managed to ruin it.

The former death eater could not have appeared more pathetic, crouched in the back of the cave, lighting the newspaper with his wand, his clothes tattered and filthy. Yet he did not bother using a repairing or cleaning spell. What did it matter? The Ministry pursued him, and Bellatrix LeStrange wanted him in her small band of unrepentant followers of the dark lord. Not that she liked Peter, but nobody could deny his usefulness. As a rat, he could enter places and discover information that nobody else could.

"Voldemort," he whispered out loud, "I can say it now. Bloody, stupid Voldemort!" That is who truly ruined his life, Pettigrew realized, not the boy. Yet his thoughts focused on James and Lily's son.

Over and over he repeated to himself, "It was all my fault. It was all my fault. . . ."

Last time Voldemort "died," Pettigrew almost completely abandoned his human form, but he refused to stoop to that level this time. He would not live as a rat again. No more would he cower in a cave. The decision made, he stood and waved his wand over himself several times. In a minute, his torn clothes had healed, and he no longer stank.

If he had to go down, he would take a few people with him.

"Most important is to form a strong image in your mind," Harry explained again, "otherwise, you'll just create a huge mess. Stand behind me." His three friends shuffled around Harry, the four of them almost filling the tiny kitchen.

The powerful young wizard stood at the edge of the kitchen gazing into the small living room. A moment later, he clapped his hands. His three friends gasped with pleasure as they witnessed the sofa flying from one side of the room to the other, somehow avoiding the television and other items which also changed positions. They laughed with admiration when everything settled in new perfectly-placed positions. Harry lips formed the merest of smiles.

"That's wonderful, Harry," Hermione gushed, "I didn't know you could perform wide-scale magic. Not surprised though."

"Dumbledore taught me just before he died," Harry explained quietly, "He showed me a lot of advanced magic. Really, the wide-scale magic isn't so hard if you have enough power. Just a matter of focus."

Hermione and Ron took turns trying to rearrange the furniture, with various levels of success, causing round after round of laughter among Harry's three friends. Ginny wanted to try as well, but since she was still underage, they did not want to take the chance, though unlikely, that the Ministry might track her spell. Even Harry chuckled a few times - the first time he had laughed all year.

"What else did Dumbledore teach you, Harry? Can you show us some?" Ron inquired.

Harry nervously replied, "I'd need to use my wand."

Since the day weeks earlier when Harry visited Gringotts Bank, Harry had touched his wand only once, the day his three friends first arrived. He placed it at the bottom of a drawer full of clothes, out of sight. With the remnants of Voldemort inside of him, he dared not use the wand. Even though he could summon it within seconds, somehow keeping it out of sight made it easier not to succumb to temptation.

Ron knew better than to press the issue, casually commenting, "That's fine, Harry. Maybe someday you can show us."

"I can explain some of them to you," Harry remarked, enjoying the enjoyment of his friends, "You can give them a try."

The three friends smiled and nodded their heads, heartened by Harry's improved mood.

Andrew Scott never knew that his sister, Joanna, had been placed under the imperious curse. In any event, the squib never studied at Hogwarts and had only a vague idea of the effects of the unforgiveables. Though surprised that she did not wish to travel to the flat immediately, he did not question her insistence that she needed to return to the Prophet's offices to make necessary arrangements, especially lining up a photographer. _Joanna is the pro_, he considered; _she knows what she is doing._

In fact, Joanna Scott did not return to her office at the Daily Prophet. Instead, within minutes of leaving Andrew's office, she informed Bellatrix LeStrange of Harry Potter's address. Voldemort's confidant grinned.

"Obliviate," she intoned, erasing the memory of the reporter.

She would like to have tortured Joanna, even kill her, but her eyes focused on the more important target. The reporter held no importance any longer, and in a matter of seconds Joanna left, confused as to how she had arrived at the dingy muggle flat where LeStrange and a few of her followers lived, staying one step ahead of the new Ministry's aurors. Bellatrix watched as the younger witch disappeared. Perhaps she could exploit the reporter again in the future.

"Soon, you will have some real news to report!" she muttered under her breath, closing the curtains.

LeStrange never considered herself the successor to Voldemort. Her tiny band of outlaw death eaters had only two objectives: revenge and anarchy. She would worry about anarchy later, as she had fanciful and unrealistic plans to create such havoc as to bring down the magical government. The witch lacked Voldemort's cunning and intelligence, but matched him in pure evil.

Anarchy could wait, but revenge had to be acted upon immediately. The Potter boy no longer could be underestimated. Though no death eater dared speak the thought, nor even think it, she knew it to be true. The dark lord feared Potter. She heard him scream when Potter entered his mind. Her master knew of the boy's power. That is why he tried so hard to kill Potter while still young. He failed. Time after time. In the past, Bellatrix depreciated the boy, but no longer. After all, Potter killed both Nagini and Voldemort. This time she would not fool around. No taunting, no torture. Just do the job, and avenge the dark lord.

In the days after the picnic, Harry gradually began to relax. From time to time, the four friends left the apartment to walk down to the small but comfortable courtyard in the middle of the block of flats. Many of the neighbors noticed them, throwing curious looks at the young strangers, especially the teen with the gaunt face and tangled black hair. A few neighbors thought that they ought to introduce themselves and welcome the newcomers, but something about the black-haired boy caused them to keep their distance. On occasion, when too many neighbors stared, Hermione or Ron would discreetly perform the muffliato spell.

Sometimes Harry felt that he could live this way, with Voldemort present but submerged, but he knew better. He still could feel Voldemort's thoughts. The dark lord continued to bide his time; he had all the time in the world. Whether it happened this month, next month, or next year, sooner or later the boy would falter, and then the dark lord would pounce.

Dobby had not had a break for three months, ever since the confrontation at Godric's Hollow. House elves are amazing creatures. They have incredible endurance and tremendous loyalty. Nevertheless, the strain took its toll, and even Dobby could no longer deny his exhaustion. Harry asked the elf to take a couple of days off, to go back to Grimmauld Place to sleep, or to visit with his family and friends. For some time, Dobby refused, but with the additional encouragement of Ron, Hermione and Ginny, and the fact that Harry appeared to have stabilized, the house elf finally relented.

Thus the four wizards and witches found themselves without Dobby at 9:30 in the morning late in March. After breakfast, Harry entertained his friends by teaching them more of the spells that Dumbledore had taught him in the very same room. As Ron and Hermione tried to throw darts emerging from the tip of their wands at a target conjured against the sitting room wall, the four friends laughed freely.

They would never laugh together again.

Ron and Hermione stood together at the edge of the kitchen facing the target, while Harry and Ginny stood side by side next to the side wall of the sitting room watching. As had become her custom, Ginny slipped her right hand into Harry's left while they watched. Without warning, the front door shattered under the effects of a reducto curse. Harry's right hand immediately shot from his side calling for his wand, but in that instant, two former death eaters burst through the hole and shot stunners at Ron and Hermione. Though the two had their wands in their hands, they had no chance to react. Their bodies crumpled to the kitchen floor.

Immediately in the wake of the two initial death eaters, Bellatrix LeStrange rushed behind, spotting Harry. Without a moment of hesitation, she pointed her outstretched wand at the boy, yelling, "AVADA KEDAVRA."

At that moment, Harry's wand shot down the hallway of the small flat but had not yet reached his hand. Instantly he recognized the inevitability of his death, but not only Harry realized this. Deep inside of him, a wave of fear surged up through his body, though his windpipe, and to his mouth.

The barely understandable words, "BELLATRIX, NOOOOO!" emerged from Harry's mouth in a voice not his own, garbled by the struggle inside of him.

But the unintelligible warning arrived too late, as the spell had already been delivered by Voldemort's most devoted follower, her eyes wide with anticipation and fear. Her master would be avenged, and she above all others would be remembered as the greatest of the death eaters.

Yet another person yelled, "NOOOOO!" Ginny Weasley did not have even a second to consider the situation, but she knew instantly that Harry was about to be killed. She would not allow that to happen. Not after everything the boy she loved had done for the world. He would not be required to make the greatest sacrifice.

The red-haired witch released Harry's hand and leapt in front of him as the green jet of light traversed half of the distance to its target. Harry tried to react fast enough to push her aside, but time did not permit it. Ginny's right shoulder absorbed the killing spell.

Harry watched helplessly as Ginny fell lifeless to the carpet. A moment later his fingers grasped his wand which had finally reached its destination. Bellatrix and the two death eaters stood dumbfounded by the young witch's sacrifice, an eventuality not considered in all of their planning. Harry's eyes widened in outrage, and with one long slash of his wand, the wands of his three attackers left their hands and moment later landed in Harry's left hand. The force of the spell threw the three attackers into the wall, knocking the air out of them. His right hand pointed the wand at Bellatrix's chest, and his mouth opened with the intention of pronouncing the killing curse.

He paused for a few seconds, trying to absorb what had just occurred. Just five seconds before, he laughed with his friends, enjoying their company. Now because of him, another of the persons closest to him had died. His mum and dad, Sirius, Dumbledore, and now Ginny. All because of him. He gazed at his attackers, now frozen with fear, and he made his decision.

First Harry flicked his wand twice, stunning the two initial death eaters, who fell awkwardly on the sofa and carpet. Bellatrix finally recognized the inevitability of her own death if she did not take action, and she turned in an attempt to apparate. Unfortunately for her, she did not act quickly enough, for Harry's silent "Petrificus Totalus" struck her first. Bellatrix froze in mid twist..

Ginny lay dead at his feet, Harry realized, though the horror of that event had not yet fully penetrated. He knew that it soon would, and he had to act before that happened. Ron and Hermione had only been stunned, however. He had to arrange for their safety first. Thinking quickly, he devised a plan in another five seconds of thought.

"Wingardium Leviosa," he whispered at his friends, levitating the two into his bedroom, carefully laying them on his bed. He moved back to the door, closing it almost all the way. Through the slit that remained, he flicked his wand to the thought of "Ennervate." His best friends would slowly awaken and be able to defend themselves if necessary. Bellatrix would want to leave them alive anyway, as witnesses. He clicked the door shut. Immediately returning to the sitting room, he faced the frozen Bellatrix.

Harry quietly pronounced, "Finite." The evil witch stretched her arms in astonishment before returning her gaze to her prey. Everything had gone wrong, she knew, and no doubt her life would end soon.

Yet instead of killing her, Harry looked down at his fallen friend. His first real girlfriend. The girl he may have married. The girl with whom he had shared the most wonderful moments of his life. He tilted his head towards Bellatrix and threw her wand back to her.

"Finish the job!" Harry ordered quietly. Shock prevented the witch from acting, her mouth agape in confusion.

Inside of Harry, Voldemort again surged to the surface, intending to warn Bellatrix not to kill the boy, that killing him would also kill her master, but Harry concentrated with all of his power at controlling the evil spirit. No sound left his mouth as Bellatrix LeStrange slowly pointed her wand at Harry Potter.

"AVADA KEDAVRA."

Nothing stopped the spell this time, and a wave of relief passed through Harry's body. At last, it would end. No more suffering. No more fighting. He had done what he had been placed on the earth to do.

The green jet of light connected with Harry's chest, but he did not immediately fall. Instead an unearthly howl escaped his lips, and Harry's body shook violently for at least ten seconds. And then as suddenly as it started, the howling ended, and Harry's body crumpled next to Ginny's.

For a long moment, silence filled the small flat. Bellatrix stared mutely at her fallen enemy. She had succeeded, but she felt no sense of victory. The boy had asked her to do it, for Merlin's sake. How could she feel revenge when she did exactly what Potter wanted?  
Finally, the spells that bound the two death eaters lifted, and they began to stir. Ron and Hermione had finally recovered, and Bellatrix realized that she needed to leave quickly so as not to deal with Potter's two friends, who no doubt would be in a murderous mood. She stepped forward to help her companions when from behind her she heard the last two words of her life.

"AVADA KEDAVRA."

A/N My sincerest apologies to all of my Ginny fans. I knew from the beginning that either Ginny or Hermione would sacrifice herself for Harry. Ultimately the decision on which it should be became a pragmatic one. I simply felt that I write Hermione's character better than Ginny's. Thus, I preferred to be left with Hermione alive. That said, killing off Ginny was an extremely difficult thing to do because I do like her, and I really did not enjoy writing that scene. But as I like to say, I have to go wherever the story takes me. I hope my H/G fans can forgive me and stay with the story for the final four chapters. At least Ginny died a hero. G.


	42. Chapter 42

Chapter 42

You Owe Me Nothing

From their position in Harry's bedroom, Ron and Hermione heard the killing curses that felled Harry Potter and Bellatrix Lestrange. So much had happened in such a short period of time, that they could do nothing more than crack open the door, their wands pointed ahead.

"YOU!" cried one the death eaters from the sitting room sofa, "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"

"Repaid a debt," replied Peter Pettigrew calmly from just inside what used to be the front door. Before the pair on the sofa could move to reclaim their wands, scattered on the carpet next to Harry's still body, Peter took action.

"Stupefy. Stupefy," he carefully intoned, knocking the unfortunate pair out for the second time in the previous five minutes.

The two teens leaned back from the door, expecting Pettigrew to rush down the hall to throw stunners at them. Or worse. Yet the seconds passed, and the animagus did not appear. Had he left? They cracked the door open again.

They heard the sound of a body being moved on the carpet. Peter roughly shoved Bellatrix's body aside with his foot and then moved over to the leather sofa. Ron and Hermione only caught a glimpse of his back, not in a position to cast a spell at him. Their fear slightly receded, as Pettigrew did not demonstrate any intention to harm them.

"Incarcerous," he stated twice, assuring the imprisonment of Bellatrix's lackeys by wrapping cords around their hands and feet. Calmly standing in front of the couch, Peter used his wand to levitate the bodies to more comfortable positions. Surveying the scene, he realized that the front door needed to be repaired from the reducto blast, so he casually flicked his wand to the word, "Reparo." After the splinters of wood and the crumbs of drywall reassembled themselves, Peter nodded his head in satisfaction. Potter dead. Lestrange dead. His debt repaid. All was as it should be.

Stepping to Dumbledore's favorite chair, he slowly lowered himself into a sitting position. Ron and Hermione saw him come into and out of their vision, but when he sat, they could only see the side of his nearly bald head. They looked at each other in confusion, underlain with the realization of the horrible tragedy awaiting them in the sitting room. Ginny and Harry. Both dead.

"You may want to tie my hands and legs," Peter Pettigrew called to them, "Then you will need to contact the Ministry. There will be quite a job for them here. Who knows how many muggles heard all of this noise."

Was this a trick? Hermione glanced at Ron, and the two pushed the door open all the way.

"Throw your wand out where we can see it," Ron ordered down the hall, though he could barely speak from the lump that had formed in his throat.

"Certainly," replied Pettigrew, and a second later his wand bounced on the carpet just before the start of the short hallway.

As soon as the wand became visible, Ron and Hermione slowly stepped forward, dreading the scene waiting for them. Once they entered the sitting room, they saw a nicely-dressed, clean, well-groomed Peter Pettigrew seated serenely, staring straight ahead. The two stunned death eaters half sat, half lay on the sofa. Bellatrix Lestrange's body had been pushed awkwardly against the wall by the front door, her head askew. Ginny Weasley's face lay on its left side on the carpet, her body almost completely stretched out. Her thick red hair sprayed in a thousand directions.

Harry Potter's knees bumped into Ginny during his fall. He lay on his right side, his left arm resting on Ginny's back, his head tilted downwards.

"Why?" Hermione grunted, the only word she could utter.

"I will be happy to explain," replied the former friend of James and Lily Potter, "but it would be prudent for you to make sure that I cannot escape. Then you will need to contact the Ministry. Rest assured, I will tell you anything you wish to know. I no longer have secrets to conceal."

Good advice, they knew, but Ron and Hermione could barely function. Hermione realized that soon she would break down, for this day was and would always be the worst day of her life. She had to keep herself together a little longer.

Ron knelt next to his sister, running a hand through her thick, tousled red hair which spread out helter-skelter on the carpet. Finally turning her attention to the man sitting idly in the chair, Hermione forced herself to move the four steps to stand in front of him.

"Is anyone else coming?" she asked in barely more than a whisper, "Does anyone else know?"

"No. Only these three. They did not know that I followed them." He held out his arms, wrists tight together. "You really should tie me up."

The witch nodded, but for several seconds she could not think of the spell.

Noting the confusion in her eyes, Pettigrew added helpfully, "The incantation is 'incarcerous.'"

Of course it is, thought Hermione, and in a moment she bound the wrists and ankles of the intruder. It never occurred to her that Pettigrew could transform into his animagus form if he wished, but the middle-aged wizard appeared intent on his capture.

Ron began to cry as he held his sister in his arms. She quite clearly had died. Her head hung limply when Ron lifted up her back, and already the color of her skin paled. Hermione moved over to Harry, and kneeled by his head.

"Why, Harry? Why?" she whispered, barely able to speak at all as the first tears formed in her eyes. He looked at peace, she thought. At least he can finally have peace. Yet something seemed different about him, compared to Ginny. The color of his skin had not changed, but of course his skin had already paled from weeks of living indoors. Still, something seemed different.

She ran her fingers through his messy hair and along his smooth cheek and chin. He shaved that morning, she recalled. His skin retained its warmth, but only a short time had elapsed since the curse hit him. Hermione carefully turned Harry's body into a more natural position, and then she saw it. Or did she?

Did his chest move? Initially she thought it did , but a moment later she decided that she may have imagined it. Kneeling motionless next to her best friend, she stared at his chest. It happened again!

Grabbing wildly for his wrist, she pressed her fingers to find a pulse. After pressing her fingers against the artery in Harry's neck, Hermione had been convinced.

"RON, HARRY'S ALIVE!" she shouted, "We have to get him to St. Mungo's."

"But how?" Ron sputtered.

"I DON'T KNOW. WE HAVE TO MOVE."

But Ron could not move. He continued to hold his sister's body, staring blankly at Hermione.

At that moment, a pop could be heard in the kitchen. Hermione turned and saw Dobby rushing towards them.

"Something has happened to Harry Potter," the elf cried, "Dobby could feel it."

"Yes, Dobby, but Harry is still alive. We have to act right away. I have to go to St. Mungo's. Stay here and do what you can for him."

Excruciatingly painful hours followed. Within minutes of informing St. Mungo's that Harry Potter lay near death, Hermione side-along apparated one healer back to the flat. She immediately returned to St. Mungo's to bring another healer, and the two worked intensely on Harry, after the second healer quickly confirmed Ginny's death.

One more time, Hermione returned to the wizarding hospital, where representatives of the Ministry awaited her, having been notified by the hospital administration. Remus Lupin stood at the head of the half dozen officials. Upon seeing her former professor, Hermione finally lost her composure, and half collapsed into the werewolf's arms, sobbing into his shoulder. Remus comforted her for a few seconds, but he knew that they had to move.

"Hermione," he requested softly, "Please take me there. We have much to do."

The young witch, nodded her head, took a deep breath, and grasped Remus' shoulder. Within a few minutes, the tiny flat overflowed with healers and ministry officials. Obliviators arrived on the scene to deal with the muggle police and neighbors. Not only did they have to deal with Ginny's body and Harry's precarious hold on life, Ron lapsed into a state of shock.

Aurors arrived to gather up the three prisoners, stunning the docile Pettigrew to prevent him from transforming into a rat. Remus glared at his former best mate, and Pettigrew stared back unapologetically. The two exchanged no words. The aurors unceremoniously dragged the body of Lestrange into the kitchen until the more important matters could be resolved. Remus and others gently questioned Hermione to gather a general idea of the morning's events.

Dobby sat in the corner of the kitchen, his head in his hands, observing the activity, holding himself responsible for the tragedy. If he had only stayed . . . .

Once the Daily Prophet caught wind of events, every reporter in its employ covered the multiple aspects of the story: Harry Potter's condition, the death of the daughter of a high-ranking Ministry official, the death of a feared death eater, the capture of three other former death eaters, the condition of Harry Potter's best friends, and why the four teens holed up in a muggle flat in the first place.

Universal agony swept through the magical world as news of the events trickled out, and the Prophet published two editions each day as its reporters made new discoveries.

Hermione sat glumly in a metal chair pressed against the wall of Healer Samuel Spencer's small office at St. Mungo's. Also pressed into the office stood Minister of Magic Shacklebolt and Remus Lupin. Remus insisted that Hermione be included in the high-level meeting, both because of her worry over Harry's condition and since she could provide the best direct information regarding the previous morning's tragedy.

"Mr. Potter's physical condition has improved considerably, and in fact he probably was not as close to death as we originally imagined when we first arrived at the scene. With some basic treatment, his vital signs improved, and he remains stable." Healer Spencer held an open file in his left hand while running his right hand through his long greying black hair.

"So does that mean we can expect a full recovery?" asked the Minister of Magic hopefully. A quarter of a year in office had worn on Shacklebolt, whose newly lined face evinced the pressures of his position. No doubt his hair would have greyed had he not already been completely bald.

Hermione also perked up at the healer's words, but something in his manner betrayed his true feelings.

"Unfortunately I cannot promise that. Ultimately that question will be answered by Mr. Potter himself." Confused expressions met Spencer's tired but composed face.

"Mr. Potter is in a coma because he wants to be," the aging healer explained as professionally as he could manage, "A voluntary coma has only rarely been reported over the past five hundred years of medical history. Only twelve cases in that time have conclusively been diagnosed. As we eliminated other possible diagnoses, Mr. Potter's condition became clear to us all. We worked into the early hours of the morning. This most definitely is a case of voluntary coma."

Remus, Hermione and Shacklebolt considered themselves knowledgeable of the magical world, yet none of them had ever heard of voluntary coma. For a moment the two men seemed reluctant to say as much, but Hermione quickly admitted her ignorance.

"What exactly is a voluntary coma?" she inquired quietly, preferring not to speak, "I don't think I've ever heard of it. Why would Harry want to be in a coma?" Her eyes remained downcast.

Healer Spencer sat behind his small white desk and paused before composing an answer.

"Miss Granger, of the twelve recorded cases, five individuals died and seven survived. Naturally, studies of the seven survivors revealed much, but seven cases hardly qualifies as an adequate sample to speak conclusively about these things. Nevertheless, one aspect of the condition is quite clear. The patient does not wish to live. More than that, the patient is willing himself to die. Quite simply, Miss Granger, Mr. Potter is attempting to force himself to die."

Hermione's heart raced at the healer's words, though her face remained deceptively passive. Remus and Shacklebolt shifted nervously.

"Of course, willing oneself to die is not easy, especially when Mr. Potter's body is young and relatively healthy, despite the difficulty of his recent months. Of the five patients who died, four were of an advanced age." Spencer closed the file and set it on his desk, leaning back in his chair. "Nevertheless, from what we have gathered in our interviews and examinations, Mr. Potter quite clearly is a man of supreme mental determination. I am afraid that we are quite worried. Extremely worried."

"What can you do for him?" the Minister of Magic inquired, "Do whatever you can. The Ministry will cover any cost."

"Mostly we can keep his body as healthy as possible through nutritive potions and therapies, making it more difficult for his body to expire. However, this will only buy time. Ultimately Mr. Potter must find a reason to live."

Spencer eyed the pretty young witch sitting before him, her eyes cast down to the white tile floor. Beyond what he reported, he had few ideas.

"Miss Granger. I understand that you are Mr. Potter's closest friend. Several people have described your special understanding of him." The healer leaned forward, attempting to make eye contact with the young witch, but she did not lift her gaze. "It appears your friend has some level of consciousness, or perhaps awareness would be a better word. His body tenses noticeably when his room is full of people, but he relaxes if only one or two are in the room. Right now, the only medicine I can prescribe is a heavy dose of friendship. I would like you to spend as much time as you can with him. Talk to him. Give him a reason to live."

"Will he even hear me?" she asked in a tired, defeated voice, "Harry wanted to die all year, but we wouldn't let him. Maybe I should let him now. Maybe he'll be happier dead than alive."

Remus' heart broke at the young witch's words. He had known the brilliant girl since her third year at Hogwarts and often marveled at her determination. Now sat before him a broken young woman, with one best friend unconscious and near death, the other barely functioning due to shock.

"Do you really believe that, Hermione?" the werewolf kindly asked.

"I don't know what I think," she replied, never moving her eyes from the floor, "My mind isn't functioning. It's all too terrible." Her voice dwindled to a whisper.

The three men could think of nothing to say, so they remained silent. Eventually Hermione looked up and slowly stood.

"I'd like to see Harry now if I may," Hermione requested abruptly, "Maybe that will help me decide what to do."

Hermione held Harry's hand for a full hour, but she did not utter a word. He could feel her, she knew intuitively, and that had to be enough for the moment. It was too early for words.

A wave of relief pulsed through Harry's body the moment the killing curse connected with his chest. He expected to die quickly and quietly. No torture, no drawn out illness. What more could he hope for?

Yet when the curse hit him, he retained his consciousness. The curse itself caused him no pain, but he felt a surge of energy rush through him searching for a target. Suddenly his mouth opened involuntarily as Voldemort's howl of pain escaped, and Harry's body shook as the last remnants of the dark lord vanished into nothingness.

Harry realized with horror that the curse killed Voldemort, not himself. Yet he had not intended to live one more second. Ginny died. Now Voldemort died. Why should he live any longer?

"I will not!" the Boy Who Lived decided, and he crumpled to the carpet unconscious. A grey-blackness filled his world, a vacuum with no sense of time or space. He still lived, he knew, but he would live no longer. Now he understood clearly. His life had one purpose: to kill Tom Riddle. With success, the reason for living no longer existed.

"I am not even a real person," Harry's inner voice argued, "Someone placed me on the earth only because of a prophecy. The prophecy is over, so my life is over. One cannot exist without the other."

His world turned a shade darker, nearly pitch black. Soon it would end all together.

Except that he felt a warmth in his hand, which almost imperceptibly spread throughout his body. For the first time he thought of Hermione. She would suffer when he died.

"She'll get over it," he told himself, initiating an internal dialogue, "Time heals all wounds."

"But she is suffering. Why do you want her to suffer? How do you know she'll get over it?"

"Hermione is strong. Stronger than I am. Stronger than Ron. She'll survive."

"Is she truly that strong? Can she survive the horror that she just witnessed? She saw Ginny dead on the ground. She saw you. You wanted this; she did not."

"I DID NOT WANT THIS! I DID NOT WANT TO DIE! That is why Ginny is dead now. If I had finished it all before, if I had not been so weak, . . . ."

"So you want to live! If you truly wanted to die, you would have succeeded in your attempts. Deep down, you want to live."

"NO! I wanted to live. Past tense. Now I want to die! Why should I wish to live another second?"

"Hermione wants you to live."

The blackness of Harry's mind lightened to a deep grey.

Ginny Weasley's funeral a couple of days after her death proved to be a horrible experience for all. Molly remained inconsolable, and the severe shock that still affected Ron also affected Ginny's remaining brothers to a lesser degree. The youngest child, the only daughter, the princess of the family. Her loss was unthinkable.

Dozens of officials from the Ministry attended, including the Minister of Magic himself, which only contributed to the difficulty for the family. They would have preferred a quiet family affair. Ginny's death had been sensationalized by the Daily Prophet and other press outlets, resulting in a number of reporters and their assistants showing up uninvited. Indeed, many average wizards and witches arrived as well, and nobody had the heart to turn them away. The funeral turned into a somber circus.

Hermione attended the funeral, but barely paid attention. For some reason, sitting among the mourners caused her to think clearly for the first time since Ginny died, and as soon as the service ended, she inconspicuously slid away from the crowd and apparated back to Grimmauld Place. She walked up the stairs, past her room and into Harry's. Dobby previously returned his master's belongings to the room, and Hermione aimlessly rifled through Harry's personal effects, deep in thought. She opened his trunk and moved its contents around. At the bottom, an envelop caught her eye. She slid several books to the side and lifted it.

_**LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT**_

The young witch stared at the words for a full minute, but she repelled the temptation to open it. Harry had prepared, she realized. He knew his death would come. How many times had he told her? Yet she refused to believe it, always convinced that somehow Harry Potter would prevail, that he would always be there for her. She could not imagine life without Harry alive. She needed him to be alive.

"Am I being selfish?"

"Yes, I am," she answered her own question, "I'm sorry, Harry, but I can't let you use this yet."

Hermione carefully placed the Will back in the bottom of the trunk, closed the lid, and with determination rushed out of the room.

Pushing a simple metal chair next to his bed, Hermione stared intently at her friend of nearly seven years. Though unconscious and lying down, he did not appear to be resting at all. The tension in his body caused him to look like a cadaver, but his chest rose and fell regularly with each breath.

"He's just a boy," Hermione thought as she stood next to the bed studying him, "He looks so much younger now than he did a few days ago." If Harry could have seen Hermione, he would have thought the exact opposite. The trials of the past days had aged the young witch considerably, but in some ways it suited her. She took off her robe and draped it over another chair and finally sat down.  
"Please forgive me, Harry, if you don't want me to bring you back, but I have to try, "she whispered as much to herself as to the young wizard, "It's all been too much! I can't lose you too." Slowly she lifted his hand and entwined her fingers with his.

Harry felt the same warmth in his hand that he felt once before, though he did not understand from where it came. Immediately his thoughts turned to Hermione, and the warmth spread throughout his body.

Thoughts entered his mind involuntarily, and for a moment he wondered why, but then he focused on the thoughts with great concentration. Instinctively he knew that consideration of these thoughts would ultimately decide his fate.

"I know that you want to die, Harry. I can't blame you, after all that you've been through. But please don't, at least not until you've heard me out. After that, you have to make up your own mind." Hermione had organized her thoughts on her way to St. Mungo's, but now that it came down to it, she decided to say whatever came into her mind.

"Ginny didn't die for you so that you would die too. You understand what happened, don't you, Harry? She sacrificed herself for you and placed the same protection over you that your mum and dad did when you were a baby. That's why the killing curse didn't kill you. I guess the curse didn't rebound on Lestrange because it found Voldemort instead. We heard him die, so I know that he's gone now. You're finally free. I know that you didn't want Ginny to block the curse, but it's too late now. Please don't make her sacrifice meaningless."

Hermione squeezed Harry's hand a little tighter and brushed the hair out of his eyes with her other hand. She closed her eyes and paused, as if allowing Harry to consider her argument.

"She shouldn't have!" Harry thought, as he had thought a thousand times before. He knew good and well why he survived the avada kedavra; he understood Ginny's sacrifice. "It was wrong! When my mum did it, it made sense. A mother will always sacrifice herself for her child. But why Ginny? She shouldn't have done it!" His body, which had relaxed when Hermione took his hand, tensed again.

"She shouldn't have done it!" he repeated again.

"But she did," he answered himself, "you can't change what happened. Ginny sacrificed herself for you, whether you like it or not. She wouldn't want you to die. Then her sacrifice would be in vain."

"This is my decision!" Harry hotly countered, "Why should I live any longer. Voldemort is dead; I have no purpose any more. This is about me, not Ginny."

While Hermione meditated with her eyes shut, thoughts came into her mind unbidden.

"It's not just about you, Harry," she whispered to her unconscious friend, having no idea why she spoke as if responding to a statement by him. "You mean a lot to many people. To Ron. To me. To the whole wizarding world. You are a hero now. Everyone wants you to survive after what you have done for them."

"The wizarding world can go to hell!" Harry answered the thought which appeared in his mind, "They don't care about me. I'm just a name, a celebrity. Let them name a street for me if they want. I don't care about them!"

"But Ron cares about you. He's lost his sister; he doesn't want to lose you too."

"How do I know that? It's my fault she died. Lestrange cast the curse at me, not her. Ron will blame me; he should blame me! We would never be the same again."

"You're probably wondering about Ron," Hermione murmured softly, "He's not doing well. He says he doesn't blame us for Ginny, but I know he does. Deep down he does. I wanted Ginny to join us; Ron didn't. In his mind, Ginny shouldn't have been there." She bowed her head until it touched the top of Harry's hand. "He's right, of course."

She visited Ron three times since Ginny died, not including the funeral. The tragedy left him an emotional mess, and Hermione did not know if he would ever fully recover. Though outwardly he claimed that he did not blame Harry or Hermione, she could feel the anger and resentment inside of him. He had been so cold towards her. She knew that their friendship would never be the same.

"First I lost Ginny, and now I've lost Ron," she told Harry quietly, "I can't lose you too. It's too much."

"Ron blames me, as well he should. He doesn't care if I live or die. He'll be better off without me."

"He blames Hermione, too," Harry's other voice argued, "She has to be suffering terribly. Do you want to finish her off by dying too?"  
"I don't want to cause Hermione to suffer, but . . . ."

"But what? You know she will. She's lost everything except you. If you go, she might crack."

"Hermione will not crack!" Harry's first voice retorted, "Yes, she will suffer. No, she doesn't deserve it, but she will survive. What must be, must be. She can be happy without me, given enough time."

"I feel like I'll never be happy again, Harry," Hermione confessed, stroking Harry's arm. She noticed that he had more hair on his arms than she had realized. Only seventeen years old. Still a boy; almost a man. She released his hand and rose from her chair, leaning over the invalid. Running both of her hands down Harry's smooth cheeks to his chin, she saw that the hospital staff must have shaved his face. His hair remained long and tangled, but it fell backward towards the pillow, and the scar on his forehead stood out.

She returned to her seat and again entwined her fingers with his. The "conversation" with Harry exhausted her, and unconsciously she scooted the chair a few inches closer to the bed and rested her head on Harry's left shoulder. The stress of the last few days overcame her, and in a moment she fell asleep.

"We found her like this, Healer Spencer," a young healer's assistant explained quietly, her blond hair tied tightly behind her head, "We were not sure whether we should wake her."

Samuel Spencer moved silently around Hermione to the other side of the bed. His patient's head tilted towards his pretty young friend, just reaching the top of her head. The constant tension in his body clearly had eased, and he appeared more peaceful at that moment than at any time since his admittance. Spencer did not need to be a genius to decide which orders to give. Flicking his hand, he motioned for the assistant to leave the room, and he followed a few steps behind, pausing one last time to assess the scene.

In the hallway after he carefully closed the door, he issued the stern order that Harry Potter's young woman friend must not be disturbed under any circumstances. For the first time, a sliver of hope entered his heart.

The warmth which Harry felt earlier intensified. Whereas before Hermione had entered his thoughts, now she invaded his entire body. In a way, it reminded him of the terrible months with Voldemort inside of him, except that this feeling did not sicken him. He wanted more. For the first time, he realized that Hermione was physically present.

"She's here. You can feel her. You can feel her love. Do you want to leave that behind?" His other voice wavered.

"I don't know what I want. But I like this feeling; I can't deny it."

"Of course you do. It's love. Hermione loves you."

"I know she loves me, but not like that. Not like Ginny and me." His internal voice sounded unsure.

"Can't you feel that? The last time you felt anything like that was with Ginny last year. But this is just as strong. Hermione loves you. Don't deny it."

"Does she? Does she really love me like that?"

Hermione opened one eye but did not move her head. She did not recall having lain her head on Harry's shoulder, but she liked it, especially because she felt Harry's head resting against hers. She snuggled an inch or two closer, creating more contact with her friend, and reached her hand up to his hair, gently running her fingers through the tangled black locks.

The question had formed in her mind: Do you love Harry? She understood the intent of the question perfectly. Everyone knew that she loved Harry, that they had a special connection, an unusually close friendship. But the question did not refer to that.

Do you love Harry?

She knew the answer. For a long time she knew it but had never admitted it to anyone, especially herself. Harry liked Ginny, maybe even loved her. They were made for each other. Hermione accepted that. She would always be Harry's closest friend, the person who understood him best, but she could not be his lover. Ginny was so pretty, so alive and full of energy, so perfect for him.

Except that she was not. Hermione slowly realized during the past months that Ginny was not perfect for Harry. Nobody is perfect for anyone. When they broke up after Dumbledore's funeral, Hermione believed with all her heart that the two would be back together as soon as school began, yet they never did. No, Ginny was a wonderful person, but she was not perfect for Harry. Nobody was.

Hermione knew she had a problem on that day months before when she cried on Harry's shoulder at Grimmauld Place, just hours before she broke up with Ron. Try as she could, the memory of Harry wrapping his arms around her, comforting her, never left her. But she had to repress it. Harry had so much to do; he could not be distracted. And the moment in Connery's Knoll when she saw Harry dripping wet out of the shower, the towel wrapped around his waist. Her feelings became harder and harder to repress, but repress them she did.

And there was always Ginny. She knew how Ginny felt about Harry, freely admitting it to Hermione in their many bedroom conversations. Ginny suspected that perhaps Hermione felt the same about Harry, but Hermione always assured her otherwise.

Everything had changed now. She would no longer repress these feelings. Harry needed to know the truth, and then he could decide whether to live or die.

Hermione slowly moved her head, making sure to place Harry's head in a comfortable position. Lifting his arm onto his chest, she again entwined her fingers with his and gazed down at his face. Slowly she bent forward and gently kissed his forehead, just to the side of his scar.

"I love you, Harry." she whispered directly into his ear, and then kissed his forehead again, "Please don't leave me.".

Healer Spencer clucked happily as he completed his examination of his most famous patient. The pretty young witch sat silently by the wall, clearly troubled. Spencer could not help but steal glances at her during the fifteen minute procedure, and he debated internally whether he should inquire. Finally he completed his work and cleared his throat. Hermione shook her head out of her meditation.

"How is he?"

"Significantly improved, Miss Granger, though by no means out of the woods. Certainly his color has improved, and he has relaxed for the first time. I have instructed the staff not to interrupt you while you are here. Whatever you are doing, you should continue it."

The young witch did not demonstrate any pleasure at the news, surprising the older wizard. Instead she bit her lower lip and cast her eyes upon the grey tile floor.

Spencer moved to the door, which had been left ajar, and closed it. Pulling up one of the simple metal chairs, he sat across from Hermione, and studied her for a few moments.

"Perhaps it is not my place, Miss Granger, but I can't help but notice your ambivalence to this positive development. For the first time, I feel some optimism that your friend may choose to live. That is, I can assure you, entirely because of you." The healer paused, examining Hermione closely. "I do not know the details of your friendship with Mr. Potter, but clearly your presence has sparked something inside of him. Is there anything I can do to be of assistance?"

Hermione had only met the healer on a couple of occasions and certainly had not developed a confidential relationship with him, yet she felt his concern and sensed that he could be trusted. In a way, she could speak more frankly with him than with Remus or someone she knew well.

"The thing is, Mr. Spencer, I feel that I'm being selfish. Harry always does things for others, and he knows that I want him to live, I'm sure of it. But I want him to live because HE wants to live, not because I want him to. I'm afraid that he'll decide to live only because he doesn't want me to suffer. I don't want him to come back only to be miserable the rest of his life.." She sat up straight while addressing the healer, her hands tightly folded in her lap.

Samuel Spencer dispensed a lot of advice to grieving families over the decades, but he never faced a situation such as this. Nevertheless, he understood the young witch's point, and his advice came to him immediately.

"Tell him. When I leave in a moment, tell him exactly what you told me. Mr. Potter must make the decision. If he comes back, that means he wanted to come back, even if in some way he is doing it for you." He paused a moment and glanced over to the bed where Harry remained unconscious. Hermione followed his gaze.

"I do not mean to be overly blunt, Miss Granger, for I know that no matter how Mr. Potter decides, you are a most special person to him. Ultimately, however, he will decide whether you are worth it. If he comes back because of you, that means that you are worth it to him. If he does not, then the horrors of his life proved too much to overcome."

As the healer spoke these words, Hermione's eyes slowly dropped their gaze from the man's eyes down to the floor. She remained silent after he finished, and he felt that he said enough, hopefully not too much. Standing up, he placed his hand on the girl's shoulder for a moment and then quietly left the room, closing the door behind him.

The healer's advice made sense, but Hermione resisted it for several minutes. What if Harry took her up on it? What if he decided that she was not worth it? Would she prefer him to come back even if he did it only for her? At least he would be alive. She paced the small hospital room, and Harry seemed to sense her disquiet, for his muscles tensed. Finally she stopped at the foot of the bed and stared intensely at her closest friend. So much had happened to the seventeen-year old boy in his extraordinary life.

"He deserves it," she decided, "he deserves to make up his own mind, to decide what he wants." Trembling, she returned to the seat next to the bed, again taking Harry's hand.

"I want you to live, Harry. I love you. But I will not ask you to come back for me. I will be here if you do, but you have to decide. What do you want to do? I know that you wanted to die, and if that is your decision, I will accept it. I will try to move on." The tear ducts overflowed, and a steady stream fell from both eyes. She gripped Harry's hand even tighter, and she thought she felt him grip back. Heartened by this, she continued with the difficult words, her voice remaining soft but strong.

"You've done so much for me, Harry. You've saved my life more than once; you saved the whole world. You owe me nothing, but I owe you so much. Thank you, Harry, for everything you've done for me, and for everything we've done together. Whatever you decide, remember that I love you."


	43. Chapter 43

Chapter 43

It All Went to Hell

"So what's it going to be? You can't stay like this forever, you know."

"I know."

"Great! Are you going to decide any time soon?"

"It's not that easy. It seemed so obvious before, but now I'm confused. Hermione wants me to come back. She'll suffer if I don't. I don't know what to do."

"Yes, she will suffer, but she wants you to come back because you want to live, not because you feel sorry for her. Do you want to live?"

"No! . . . I don't know! . . . I don't know!"

"I think you do know. Let's be honest with our self. If you truly wanted to die, you would be dead by now. Something has stopped you. You're acting a little like Malfoy in the tower. He had every chance to kill Dumbledore but couldn't do it. You've had every chance to end it, but you can't do it. You want to live!"

"Of course I wanted to live, but everything has changed now. It's all wrong. Ginny is dead. All my fault. Voldemort is gone. Ron blames me. Only Hermione is left."

"You say that like it's a small thing. Hermione loves you. Isn't that what you've wanted all your life. Nobody loved you on Privet Drive, and you craved it. Now that you can have it, you want to throw it all away."

"But you're acting like nothing happened. GINNY IS DEAD! BECAUSE OF ME! I can't live with that guilt. She shouldn't even have been there, and then instead of me protecting her, she sacrifices herself for me. IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME!"

"Ginny loved you too. She had the right to sacrifice herself. You would have done it for her; what gives you the power to deny her the same right? That's what people who love each other do. GINNY WANTS YOU TO LIVE! Not just Hermione, Ginny too."

"You're right, I know it, but I just can't accept it. If I go back, it will be so hard. All of these feelings will come gushing out. I don't know if I can handle it. And the Daily Prophet will be after me, and I won't be able to go anywhere without being mobbed. Is that any way to live?"

"Is that any reason to die? Are you telling me you can't deal with the Prophet or the public? What kind of pretext is that?"  
"Not a very good one."

"Right! Look, Hermione loves you. If you don't come back, sure, she will move on. Eventually. She's strong, stronger than you are. Sooner or later she'll find another man, get married, be happy. But YOU could be that man. So the question is, Harry Potter, do YOU want to be that man?"

St. Mungo's provided a bed for Hermione in the corner of Harry's room, a highly unusual procedure. Something told her not to leave her friend, not this night, and Healer Spencer overruled normal regulations. A decision would be made soon. She decided not to call the staff if Harry showed signs of dying, though she could not be sure she would follow that decision when push came to shove. Finally around midnight, she could fight off her exhaustion no longer, and she slipped in between the sheets of the narrow bed.

Three hours later, Harry Potter stirred, confusion in his brain. He remembered nothing of his internal musings, yet he knew beyond doubt that Hermione shared this room, wherever it was, with him. He lifted his head and for the first time since Bellatrix Lestrange's killing curse, opened his eyes. Immediately he scanned the room, searching for his best friend.

Though dark outside, the rooms at St. Mungo's had been charmed to retain a dim aura, just enough light so that a healer or assistant could see when making rounds during the night. Without his glasses, the entire room blurred in his eyes, yet he immediately recognized a lump in the corner. That lump had to be Hermione.

He lay his head back on his pillow and stared at the blurry dark ceiling above him. Memories trickled into his head, but a few minutes passed before he finally synthesized it all. He knew that he had wanted to die, and he remembered why. Ginny's lifeless body etched itself into his mind. He could not understand, however, why he came back.

Stiff from the days of inactivity, he tried to kick his feet off the bed, but lacked the coordination to accomplish this simple task. His foot caught for a moment in the sheets, and he had to reach out to prevent himself from falling, causing an audible rustling. Hermione's eyes shot open.

She saw him recover from his near tumble and swing his legs over the side of the bed. Her first reaction told her to jump out of her bed and into his arms, to embrace him with the power of two Molly Weasleys. Instead, she remained motionless, studying the young man, trying to determine his mood. The emotion that filled her heart, however, could not be detained. He chose life!

From her bed, she saw the dark outline of Harry Potter sit motionless for several seconds, his uncombed hair silhouetted against the far wall. Slowly he bowed his head lower and lower. His chest started to expand and contract noticeably, and then Hermione could see his body shudder.

Harry was weeping. The enormity of the tragedy, and his responsibility for it, sank in. If he had trusted the power of love at Godric's Hollow, he could have finished Voldemort off. When he failed, he needed to remove himself from the world to kill Voldemort once and for all, and to prevent the sort of tragedy that took Ginny's life. Beyond that, he should not have weakened when Ginny asked to join them so many months ago. If he had remained strong, Ginny would not have been in the flat when Lestrange appeared. Guilt and sorrow in equal measures flooded his body.

Quietly and swiftly, Hermione slid out from between the sheets, and rushed barefoot across the cold tile floor. She wanted to embrace him, but she knew she had to take care. What would he remember from his self-induced coma?

"Harry?" she whispered, reaching her hand out to his shoulder, "I'm here." The young man slowly raised his head, and despite the poor lighting, Hermione saw deep within his tear-filled eyes. She knew immediately. Harry Potter was a deeply troubled young man. Even in the dark, the pain and fear in his eyes entered directly into Hermione's soul. They stared into each other's eyes for what seemed like an hour until Harry's chest started to heave again.

"Why?" he croaked with his unused voice, "Why did she do it?" No longer able to repress his emotions, he sobbed. Hermione calmly spread her arms and moved forward. Harry accepted her offer, and wrapped his arms around her back, burying his head in her shoulder. He wept uncontrollably. Hermione joined him with her own tears, though they wept for different reasons.

"She loved you, Harry. I can't give you any other reason. She did it because she loved you." Her own tears intensified, and she rested the side of her face on top of Harry's head, her arms wrapped tightly around his shoulders and neck. For the first time, she could share her sorrow with someone who truly knew how she felt.

Finally Harry exhausted his store of tears, and he breathed deeply to compose himself. He lifted his head off of Hermione and stared absently into her neck, deep in thought. Hermione readjusted her arms automatically, and ran the fingers of her right hand through his long, messy hair. Her own hair appeared especially bushy after three hours of sleep.

"I'm so happy you came back, Harry," she barely whispered, "I don't know what I would have done if . . ." In the quiet room, Harry heard her perfectly.

"It should have been me," the troubled young wizard quietly responded, "She shouldn't have done it." His eyes glazed. "It should have been me," he whispered to himself. Hermione could feel him trembling.

"No, Harry. It shouldn't have been anyone."

"Voldemort's gone," Harry blurted out, just realizing that the constant presence in his body no longer existed, "Lestrange killed him, not me."

"Ginny's sacrifice saved you. Her love protected you, just like your mother, but it didn't protect Voldemort. He's gone forever." Harry nodded his head an inch in agreement, fully understanding the events of the previous week.

"So love did kill Voldemort. Not my love, but Ginny's."

"No, Harry, your love too. Ginny would not have sacrificed herself for anyone, only someone she truly loved, someone who loved her back."

"I wish she hadn't done it," he responded simply, dropping his eyes, "I was ready to die. She had so much to live for. What do I have? I have no family. My loss wouldn't have mattered. It was supposed to happen. It was my destiny."

"There's no such thing as destiny, Harry. We make our own destiny." The young man lifted his head and again stared into the young woman's eyes.

"What am I going to do now?" he asked with a trembling, fearful voice. Hermione took his head between her hands and locked her eyes with his.

"You're going to live, Harry Potter. You're going to overcome this, and you will become a happy person. I'm going to help you, and you're going to help me. We need each other now more than ever."

Two weeks later, Harry sat at the kitchen table in Grimmauld Place, Remus Lupin sitting across from him. Each enjoyed tea and cookies prepared by Winky, who had taken it upon herself to tend to Harry's every need. Dobby helped, of course, but his own guilt at the tragedy affected him greatly, and Winky took over, ably managing the mansion. Harry soon learned why she earned her reputation as an especially competent house elf. She even knew how to cut her master's hair, lopping several inches off his unmanageable mane until it reached to the middle of his neck. Combined with regular meals, Harry's physical appearance improved more quickly than his emotional health.

Remus briefly greeted Harry at St. Mungo's after the young wizard regained his consciousness and stopped by Grimmauld Place for short visits, but the chance to have a true conversation had not presented itself. On his first day off in weeks, Remus made a point of flooing to Grimmauld Place to check on his former student. He knew that the past two weeks must have seemed like a tornado to the poor boy.

Healer Spencer required Harry to remain in St. Mungo's for three days, to observe and question their most famous patient. Voluntary comas occurred so rarely that Harry needed to be studied for research purposes. Unfortunately for later generations, he proved to be especially uncooperative, answering questions as briefly and unhelpfully as possible. A stream of distinguished visitors managed to enter his room, including the Minister of Magic himself. Harry behaved rudely, often times not answering their questions nor responding to their expressions of relief.

If Hermione had not been at his side constantly, who knows what would have happened. She managed to control these visits, doing her best to cover for Harry, but as the first day passed, she realized the stress these visits placed on her friend. At first, she asked nicely that no further visitors be allowed entrance to Harry's room. The staff could not bring itself to prevent the VIP visits, until finally Hermione, nerves already frayed, put her foot down.

"I DON'T CARE IF MERLIN HIMSELF WANTS TO SEE HARRY. NO MORE VISITORS!" No more visitors arrived that day, nor the next, when Harry departed for his home.

The magical world erupted in spontaneous celebrations at the news. Ginny Weasley's death had long been forgotten by the public; only the survival of the great Harry Potter mattered. A communal cloud of guilt lifted, and now their world could return to normal, the way it used to be.

Hermione knew that Harry had only just begun a long and difficult road to recovery, but she trusted that he would in fact recover. She dedicated herself to that recovery, because she now knew that she loved Harry. She also knew that Harry must love her too, even if he still did not know it. He would not have come back otherwise.

The Daily Prophet and other publications begged to be able to interview Harry and to photograph him. Naturally Harry refused, not caring a whit about such things. Rumors had circulated, however, that Harry may in fact have died or remained in critical condition, that the Ministry attempted to manufacture his survival for Minister Shacklebolt's political purposes. Finally Remus convinced an extremely reluctant Harry to allow a photographer, who arrived an hour before Harry left St. Mungo's.

The Prophet sent its top photographer, Benjamin Duval, for the job. He managed to take a haunting portrait of Harry, looking dangerous and unhealthy with piercing green eyes. But the photographer also captured Harry with Hermione taken when the young witch lovingly fixed his long, unruly hair as best she could for the official photograph. The candid picture of the two together removed any doubts in the magical community that the young wizard and witch were a couple, whether they knew it or not.

"You've had quite a couple of weeks, haven't you?" Remus asked knowingly, sipping his tea, "In fact you've had quite a year."

Harry could only shake his head, his emotions still a terrible jumble. His one and only meeting with Ron provided the most painful memory. His best mate had not come to visit him in the hospital or at Grimmauld Place. Harry knew from Hermione that Ron had his own issues, but Harry had to see him.

Molly had flooed to Grimmauld Place several times since Harry's return. She greeted Harry as she always did, with the most affectionate of hugs. Though Molly and Arthur assured Harry that they did not hold him responsible for Ginny's death, Harry found it difficult to be in their presence. Arriving at the Burrow, Harry could not help but notice that Ron had not even descended the stairs to greet him. Harry asked Hermione to remain downstairs for the moment.

When finally Harry entered Ron's room, the two mates stared nervously at each other. Without preamble, Ron spoke first.

"I don't blame you, Harry. I want you to know that. It just all went to hell. For some reason I can't seem to cope."

Ron looked terrible. Lines on his face had aged him by a decade, and a perpetual sadness penetrated his eyes. He lost weight and had a sickly look to him. Even his hair seemed to hang more limply.

"You're right, Ron. It all went to hell. It should have been me; that's what's so hard."

"She shouldn't have even been there," Ron replied, "If I blame you for anything, it's for letting her join us in the first place. I know that she wanted to help, but we should not have allowed it."

"I won't disagree with you. I knew as soon as I said them that I would regret my words. I blew it. I was weak." Ron shook his head, disagreeing.

"I'm the one who is weak. Look at me! I'm falling apart, and I can't pull myself out of it."

"I feel the same way, mate."

"No, Harry. You're going to be fine. Hermione's right. You may be my best mate, but you are also a great wizard. You've been through this before. You will recover. I'm not so sure about myself."

"It's only been a few weeks, mate. Give yourself some time. We all need time."

Ron and Harry remained on opposite sides of the bedroom where they had spent so much time over the past years. Good times for the most part. Those times would not return, not to the two of them. They knew instinctively that they could never be best mates again.

"What are you going to do now, Ron?" Harry asked.

"I need to get away from here, Harry. I think I'm going to leave for awhile. I need to finish seventh year, but I don't want to return to Hogwarts. McGonagall is arranging for me to go to another school. In America. Maybe I'll stay there afterwards, if I like it. It's someplace in California. Supposed to have nice weather all year long." Ron's eyes avoided Harry's, focusing on a poster on the wall instead.

The news hit Harry like a troll's club. His mouth fell open from his astonishment. Not only would they no longer be best mates, they would not even see each other. He could not utter a word.

"I'm sorry, Harry," Ron continued, recognizing the hurt in Harry's face, "We can't put this back together again. There's no reparo spell for what has happened. I need to make a new start. Get away from everything here."

Harry immediately understood that one of the things Ron needed to "get away from" was Harry himself. The red head could never achieve his full potential while in the shadow of Harry Potter. Finally he nodded his head in acceptance.

"I understand, Ron. You do whatever you have to do. I hope it all works out for you." He lowered his head and stared at a pair of Ron's socks that had fallen to the floor. "I'm going to miss you."

Ron felt a lump in his throat, but he controlled his emotions.

"I'll miss you too, mate. We had something special going. We'll be OK. It's just going to be different."

Sipping his tea again at his kitchen table, Harry told Remus, "I feel so lost. Ron's leaving. Ginny's dead. Voldemort is gone. No more prophecy. I can't seem to keep my feet on the ground. I feel like every time I take a step, I slip."

"A bit like gaining sea legs, isn't it?" Remus replied, "You slip and slide when you first board a boat, but once you've adjusted to its motion, you can walk steadily. That will happen to you in time. You have all the time in the world now. A whole lifetime."

"A lifetime I never thought I'd have," Harry mused, "I have no idea what to do next."

"McGonagall has agreed that you can return to Hogwarts. Seems like that might be a good idea. What do you think?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Take your time, Harry. But remember one thing. You've lost a lot, I know, but you still have Hermione. She is a remarkable young woman. You wouldn't be here if it wasn't for her. You know that, don't you?" He set down his cup and peered intently at the troubled young man.

"I know it, all right," Harry nodded, "I don't know what I'd do without her right now. I'm barely coping, but somehow when she's around, I can keep my sanity."

"If you ever had any," joked Remus, and despite himself, Harry smiled.

During the first weeks of summer, Harry felt like a stranger in his own body. The challenges he faced for years, especially after learning of the prophecy, had assumed a physical component, though the young wizard never realized it. The sensation slowly and unconsciously developed over the years.

Now suddenly that sensation vanished, and his body felt physically different. In a strange way, he missed that feeling - the sense of mission that he now lacked. Literally, he did not have to do anything anymore. The inheritances from his parents and Sirius Black could provide for him comfortably for the rest of his life, given Harry's propensity for simple living.

On top of that, Remus set up an appointment with a solicitor, who informed Harry that his image had been misappropriated by the companies that produced the posters of Harry's photograph taken by Benjamin Duval. According to the lawyer, these companies owed him tens of thousands of galleons, a princely sum, and would have to pay him annual royalties in the future. Harry did not especially care or understand, but he authorized the solicitor to negotiate with these companies. He would have preferred to disallow further sales of the posters, but as the solicitor noted, the dam had already broken, and the water could not be returned. Harry would always be a wealthy man.

He never owned much more than the clothes on his back, and he could not think of any expensive luxuries that interested him. A fancy new broom? He already owned an excellent Firebolt. An expensive house? He already lived in a mansion far too large for his liking. Huge and exorbitant parties? Ridiculous. Travel? Maybe some day, but not any time soon. His investment income would pay for his current lifestyle many times over.

Yet Harry had to do something with his life. In the past he indicated a desire to be an auror, but after his ordeal of the past years, he no longer desired a career fighting dark wizards. Or more likely a mundane career tracking down illegal portkey travelers and the like. In fact, he did not desire a career related to the Ministry at all. Though Shacklebolt, Remus and Arthur now led the new government, that would not always be the case. Harry could not forget his past run-ins with the Ministry. He wished them all the best, but he had no desire to be a part of it.

Should he follow Dumbledore's career in education? For the moment, the idea seemed laughable. Even though weeks had passed since he returned from the dead, he could only be termed a basket case. He slept terribly, at times shook uncontrollably for no apparent reason, and could not even conceive of facing a crowd of more than four or five people. Sometimes he felt reasonably well; other times his chest constricted with a panic that he could not control. Always the guilt stayed with him, and he knew it would never leave.

Everyone told him that he would recover with time. Be patient, they advised. Harry did not know what to think. The thought in the back of his head kept recurring: _I could be like this for the rest of my life._

As difficult as the death of Ginny Weasley had been, the loss of Ron hit him just as hard. The sudden and unexpected loss of a best mate, a male best friend, left a huge hole. Ron had not yet left the Burrow, and Harry thought constantly about jumping into the fireplace to floo over. It hurt him to be told not to go, that it would not be in Ron's best interest. Not yet. Maybe someday.

"My uncle told me something I've never forgotten, Harry. 'In a war there are no winners. Only losers and bigger losers.' I think you may understand what he meant." Harry nodded his head, understanding all too well Mr. Granger's statement.

Harry spent most of his time with Hermione that summer. Usually he apparated to her house in the morning, because he loved being in a quiet muggle neighborhood, able to walk the streets unnoticed by anyone. They often ate lunch together at muggle restaurants, joining the Grangers for dinner, and stayed after to chat with Mr. and Mrs. Granger.

As best she could, Hermione informed her parents of Harry's ordeal, but they had difficulty believing that this thin, nervous, quiet young man contained the magical power that Hermione described, or that he was one of the most famous people in all the magical world. Nevertheless, after a few meetings, they took a liking to the lad, and their discussions became more enjoyable.

Mr. Granger especially warmed to his daughter's new boyfriend, even if she insisted that he say no such thing to Harry at this time. She did not contradict him, he noted, and even a man could not fail to notice the strong connection between the two. If he was not greatly mistaken, this young man would one day become his son-in-law.

Of course, Hermione had only scratched the surface when informing her father of the adventures she shared with Harry. No mention of three-headed dogs, basilisks, dragons, or hippogriffs. Mr. Granger told Harry stories of his uncle who had served England in World War II. Harry realized that he was not the first person to have suffered a loss during wartime, which did little to improve how he felt.

As the summer passed by, Harry's thoughts inevitably turned to his immediate future. McGonagall suggested that Hermione and he return to Hogwarts for their seventh year, though she indicated that Hermione could take her NEWTs now if she preferred. She had, after all, attended much of seventh year already, and nobody harbored any doubts as to her ability to pass the exams. Harry, on the other hand, had only attended about two and a half months of the previous term, and in truth had not paid much attention to his classes.

Initially, Harry resisted the idea. Soon, however, he realized that he had no alternative plans. A job? He would be mobbed anywhere he went in the magical world, and his emotional state remained precarious. Thus Hermione and he discussed their options.

"Do you want to return to Hogwarts, Hermione? You love school."

"It's a hard decision, Harry," she responded, sitting next to him in the sitting room of her parent's house. Her appearance improved considerably as the summer passed, regaining her natural energy, enthusiasm and beauty.

"I don't know what else to do," Harry continued. His appearance also improved over the summer, but not his energy and enthusiasm. His left arm wrapped itself around Hermione's shoulder, and she comfortably snuggled into his side, each finding comfort in the warmth of the other. "I just can't bear living in the dormitories again. That's the only thing that is holding me back. And I would only go if you go. You have a lot of options that I don't."

Indeed, Hermione could easily pass her NEWTS, and with her fame and talent could enter any magical university she pleased. Or she could obtain a job with the Ministry or elsewhere. But she had no intention of abandoning Harry, not after what they suffered together.

"I do have options," she recognized, "but I don't think I'm ready yet. I'm suffering too. We have a long way to go. And now Ron is gone. You and I need to stay together. We need each other. Let's go back to Hogwarts."

Thus Harry found himself sitting for the first time on the sofa in his rooms at Hogwarts on September first, having just donned his black school robe. Hermione and he agreed to return to school for their seventh year, but Harry insisted that he would attend only if provided with his own rooms. Crowds bothered him, and he could not deal with the hassles of the common room and dormitories. Or the memories.

When he informed Professor McGonagall of the conditions to his decision, she smiled her agreement.

"What you are asking is strictly against Hogwarts regulations, Harry, which just goes to show that an exception exists to every rule."

Harry did not wish to ride to school on the Hogwarts Express, so Hermione and he apparated to Hogsmeade earlier in the day, Dobby and Winky transporting their trunks. Now that he arrived, however, he wondered if he made the right decision. Soon he had to walk down to the Great Hall and face the crowd of new and returning students. He trembled at the thought of so many eyes staring at him. Maybe, he thought, he could skip it. At that moment, Hermione knocked on his door.

"Ready, Harry?" she asked brightly after he opened the door. Her smile vanished when she noted the fear and anxiety in her friend's eyes. "It will be OK, Harry, I'll go in with you, and we'll take a seat quickly. You have to face this sooner or later." Harry reluctantly nodded his head.

The two friends walked hand in hand through the halls. Though they had never declared themselves to be "together," they generally acted like it. Invariably, they held hands or Hermione would slip her arm around his elbow. When sitting down, they often pressed their bodies against each other, Harry's arm wrapped around her shoulder. Nothing more than that, however. Ginny's death and Ron's abandonment still haunted them both. It was too early for more.

They arrived at the door to the Great Hall a few minutes after the other students, who had already taken their seats. Hermione squeezed his hand before releasing it, and the two stepped hesitantly through the opening. Hogwarts's enrolment had returned almost to normal, though the Slytherin table remained sparsely populated, and the hundreds of faces turning to stare at Harry could have just as easily been a million as far as he was concerned. He had not faced a crowd of this size since his ordeal. Involuntarily his arms began to tremble.

The chattering in the hall silenced in a moment as word spread in two seconds that Harry Potter had arrived. For some ten seconds, not a sound could be heard, and Harry froze. Finally an especially outgoing Ravenclaw wizard, a fifth year, stood on his bench, and at the top of his lungs shouted.

"THANK YOU, HARRY POTTER."

After the shock of the statement wore off, the entire hall erupted in applause and shouts of support. Harry's eyes widened to the size of saucers, and his trembling increased to visible shaking. Panic overcame him. He had to get out of there; he could not face this. Without thinking, he turned to run back to the protection of his rooms, except that he felt an arm slip around his elbow and a hand slip into his.

"It's OK, Harry," Hermione assured him softly. Despite the noise in the Great Hall, Harry heard her perfectly, and his frightened eyes instinctively found hers. "Let's find a seat."

She pulled him by the elbow a few feet to the end of the Gryffindor table, where several students moved aside instantly. Harry Potter could sit down anywhere he wanted. Hermione helped him swing his leg over the bench, and then sat beside him. She wrapped her arm around his back and whispered calming words into his ear.

The hopes of hundreds of young witches crashed at the sight. Harry Potter was not available.

The opening feast quite understandably turned into a boisterous celebration of the triumph of good over evil. Though Professor McGonagall carefully avoided any further mention of Harry's name, his presence in the hall could be felt by all. Hermione grasped his trembling hand every moment of the ordeal, worry filling her heart. She thought Harry had improved so much over the summer, not back to normal, but over the worst of it. Now she understood that he had miles to go.

Harry could not eat a bite of the delicious feast prepared by the exuberant house elves, and as a result, Hermione could not either. When she realized that the feast would end in a few minutes, she turned to Harry.

"Let's leave before everyone else so you won't have to walk through the crowd." Harry nodded thankfully, and they quickly stood and walked the few steps to the door. Sure that every eye stared at his back, Harry forced himself not to turn his head. In a moment they escaped the torture of the feast, and Harry rushed towards his rooms. Hermione closed the doors and fell a few steps behind. She broke into a run to try to catch up, but Harry instinctively ran harder, trying to escape from his own mind.

"Harry! Slow down! Let's talk a while. Let's take a walk," Hermione yelled, and finally Harry gathered enough self control to slow down. To the right, a hall veered off the main passage, a hall which Harry knew did not lead to any of the house common rooms. He walked quickly in that direction, and when Hermione finally managed to grab his arm, he stopped and threw himself to the stone floor, leaning his back against the cold wall. His knees bent upwards, and he grabbed his head with his hands, pulling on his hair. Hermione sat down beside him, breathing heavily.

"What's wrong with me, Hermione? What's happening?"

"You're still recovering, Harry. Don't let this pull you back. There will always be some difficult moments, but you will get better. You have to believe it."

"I just don't understand it! I've been nervous before. I've been in crowds before. Why am I so weak now? I'm supposed to be a strong person."

"All right, let me see if I can think of a few reasons, Harry Potter. Oh, here are a few." Hermione raised one finger on her left hand. "Your parents were murdered when you were a baby, and at the same time a dark lord tried to kill you too, somehow leaving a piece of his soul inside you. Then you were abused for ten years by miserable relatives who don't deserve to share even one percent of your DNA. You learn you are a wizard only to discover that the same dark lord wants to kill you. Not only that, but there's a prophecy that says only you can kill him." She ran out of fingers on her left hand, and moved to counting with her right. "Then it turns out that this dark lord can only be killed if six horcruxes are destroyed first. So you destroy five of the six, going into a coma once and almost dying another time. Finally you kill the dark lord only to discover that the residue of his soul entered your body and that you couldn't get rid of it. You suffered with that spirit inside of you for more than three months until it was accidently killed by the sacrifice of your girlfriend. Not only did she die right in front of you, but then your best mate can't cope with the loss of his sister and leaves for America. Should I go on? There's more." She gave up trying to count with her fingers.

"You make it sound pretty bad."

"IT WAS BAD! Nobody should have to suffer like that. The fact that you are sitting here right now instead of an asylum shows what a strong person you are. Nobody else could withstand what you have."

"So have I cracked? Is that what you're saying? Am I always going to be like this?"

Hermione snuggled as close as she could into Harry, pulling one of his hands down, and wrapping her fingers between his.

"You haven't cracked. You will be fine, but you have to have patience. One step at a time. We have all year ahead of us. Don't be in a hurry."

Harry dropped his other hand from his head and gently stroked Hermione's arm while he pondered everything that had just occurred. He looked down at the witch's hair, but sensing his gaze, she turned to look up at him, their faces inches apart. Their eyes locked, and Hermione wondered if this would be the moment - the moment when Harry would kiss her for the first time.

The wizard knew that he could kiss her, that she wanted to, and he wanted to, but his head remained frozen in place. Ginny's image flashed before him, and the guilt reignited in his stomach. Finally he turned away from Hermione, and looked down to the stone floor between his legs.

"I'm sorry, Hermione, I can't. Not yet. I'm just . . . I'm just not ready."

Hermione had to call on all of her acting skills to mask her disappointment. She WAS ready, in fact had been ready since the moment Harry woke from his voluntary coma. But she understood, and she would wait.

"OK, Harry. When the time is right."


	44. Chapter 44

Chapter 44

I Think I'm Ready Now

"To what do I owe the honor of this visit, Harry?" Professor McGonagall asked with a smile upon the young wizard entering her office. Though they had not spoken often since Harry's emergence from the coma, he noted that she now referred to him as "Harry," not the formal "Mr. Potter" of the past. She smiled more often too.

Over two weeks elapsed since the new term began, but Harry avoided the headmistress' office intentionally, though he had been given the password and invited to stop by any time. As each day passed, however, he felt an almost magnetic pull towards it, due to a painting on the wall. He dreaded his first encounter with Dumbledore's portrait, but also sensed that he needed to speak with it. When he walked into the office, he resolutely focused his eyes forward, only catching a glimpse of the portrait above him with his peripheral vision. He saw enough to know that the painted figure stood, watching Harry pass by.

"Thank you, Professor," Harry began, then pausing uncomfortably, trying to determine how best to ask the favor. "I know it seems a bit rude, but I was hoping you might leave your office for a short time. I would like to speak with Professor Dumbledore if I could." McGonagall's smile faded into an expression of surprise and perhaps, Harry sensed, a hint of irritation. "Of course, I could come back some other time, if it's not convenient right now."

As her lips gradually formed a frown, she instinctively shifted her eyes upwards towards the huge portrait on the wall to her left. Harry did not follow her lead, focusing straight ahead. He could perfectly hear, however, the deep, friendly, familiar voice.

"I'm sure Harry does not mean to inconvenience you, Minerva. If you could clear half an hour from your busy schedule, Harry and I would be most appreciative." Her expression softened.

"Of course, Harry, I understand," she replied, gathering several sheets of parchment from her desk, "I have several matters which need my attention anyway. Take all the time you need." Her lips once again reformed into a smile as she placed her black witch's hat on her head.

"Thank you, Professor, I appreciate it." He stood nervously while McGonagall took a few moments to leave. When she reached the door, she stopped for a second, glancing for a moment at the back of the young wizard and then at the portrait of the ancient headmaster. Harry did not move even after he heard the door click behind the headmistress.

"I wondered if you would come see me, Harry," the deep voice began, "Come over here so that I can take a look at you."

The voice surprised Harry at first. He had become accustomed to the voice of the old man at the London flat, the voice of a weak, dying man. This voice belonged to the Dumbledore of the past, a strong, steady, powerful voice. Harry finally turned and stepped to the portrait. When he looked up, he realized that he needed to take a few steps back to obtain a better view, as the large portrait hung high on the wall.

Above him Dumbledore's impressive figure towered over him. The image of the headmaster showed an old man, but clearly several decades younger than the Dumbledore Harry knew during his years at Hogwarts. The long hair and beard appeared as white as always, but his face and body indicated a younger, more virile old man. Dressed in a fine midnight blue robe, half glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, the enchanted mixture of oil and pigments gazed down benevolently on the famous young wizard.

"I thought about coming earlier, sir, but I didn't. You know what happened, right?"

"Yes, Harry. Minerva informed me, and I have overheard a number of conversations as well. Moreover, my portrait hangs in a number of important buildings. I know quite a lot of the happenings of the wizarding world. But that is not of concern at the moment. I understand that you have had a difficult time since the unfortunate events of Spring."

"You could say that. In fact that would be quite an understatement." Harry found it difficult to converse with the giant figure so high above his head, and he took two more steps backwards. "I'm doing a little better, but I feel like I'm walking along the edge of a cliff, just one good gust of wind from falling off." The painted figure gazed down sympathetically.

"We all have our limits, Harry. The tragic events of these past months would be enough to conquer the equilibrium of the strongest man. In reality, however, your appearance seems much better than I imagined. Am I correct in my belief that you have put on some weight?"

"A little. I've been eating well enough. Physically I feel better than I have for years, especially with Voldemort gone. It's taken some time for me to learn to feel what it's like not to have a piece of him inside of me. I never knew the real Harry Potter. The problem is on the inside," he concluded, pointing at his chest.

"True enough, Harry, true enough, but I have learned over the years that one's outward appearance often reflects one's inner well-being. Your physical recovery leads me to feel optimistic as to your internal recovery."

Harry's neck felt tired from looking up such a long time, so he lowered his eyes for a few moments of rest.

"I hope you are right, sir. Everything just seems so mixed up. Ginny is dead, and I'll always feel the guilt. Ron left for California, largely to get away from me. And with Voldemort dead, I suddenly feel I have no reason to live any longer, no purpose. Without Hermione, I don't know what I'd do. She pretty much saved me this summer." Harry had leaned his head back again looking up at the headmaster.  
Dumbledore contracted his eyes in thought before asking, "How have you been faring in your classes so far?"

"Quite well, actually. I think Professor McGonagall instructed the professors not to call on me because she knows I still get nervous in front of groups. I had a panic attack at the opening feast, but in class there are not so many students, and I just have to sit. Don't have to say anything. That agrees with me, but not with Hermione. She's been bugging me to take part in classes."

"And why is that?"

Harry thought for a moment before explaining in a pained voice, "She thinks I have a lot to offer, that I could demonstrate spells and things like that." He shook his head despairingly. "I know that I am a powerful wizard, sir. These past couple of weeks, I go to class and realize that I can perform these spells and charms better than my professors. In fact Professor Flitwick mentioned wide-scale magic the other day as a type of magic only few wizards can perform, and that he could not. Hermione looked at me, wanted me to show the class how to do it, but I just couldn't move." Harry lowered his eyes to his feet. "She says I can't live in a hole the rest of my life."

The painted Dumbledore nodded his head, agreeing with the assessment of the talented witch.

"I don't think you need me to inform you that Miss Granger is correct in her assessment." Harry's head still tilted downwards, but he nodded an inch in agreement. "Remember this, Harry. You have a choice to make. For better or worse, one of these choices is not to be a normal, run-of-the-mill wizard. You are and always will be special. History books will record your life story in painstaking detail, whether you make a success of the rest of your life or a failure. Thus your choices are to accept your place in history and to use your skills and status to better the world, or to hide and, as Miss Granger so aptly stated, 'live in a hole' the rest of your life."

Dumbledore paced around the canvas, which though extremely large, did not allow a lot of space for him to walk given the size of his image. After a moment he stopped and bent down to come closer to his protege.

"The decision is yours to make, but I feel confident in your strength of character, Harry Potter. Yes, as we have often stated, patience is a virtue, but do not allow patience to equate to inaction. A new magical world is forming, Harry, a world which can either seek to repeat the mistakes of the past and recreate the old world, or which can shape itself into a better society for all magical creatures, human and nonhuman alike. One way or the other, by your action or inaction, you will play an important role in this process."

Professor McGonagall returned to her office shortly thereafter, offering to leave again if the wizard and portrait had not completed their conversation. Harry assured her that they had finished and bade her good night. Just as he stepped through the door, however, a thought occurred to him.

"Could I ask you another favor, Professor McGonagall?"

That same evening, Hermione returned to her dormitory, preparing for bed. Since Harry had been allowed the concession of private rooms, Professor McGonagall felt that Hermione deserved the same consideration, but the young witch refused, preferring to enjoy the company of other Gryffindors. She did request, however, that she not be placed in a dormitory with Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil, who returned to Hogwarts for their seventh years. Though they belonged to Hermione's year, they hardly qualified as her favorites.

For that reason, she roomed with five seventh-year girls, all of whom had been friends to some degree with Ginny. At first, the younger Gryffindors acted nervously around their famous and older roommate, but gradually the ice melted, and little by little, they conversed (and giggled) more freely in her presence. Naturally the former Head Girl's relationship with a boy named Harry Potter, aka The Boy Who Lived, aka The Chosen One, aka the most famous teenager in all of the magical world, occupied much of their conversation outside of her presence. Until this evening, however, none of them dared broach the subject with Hermione.

On this night, however, one of the Gryffindor seventh-years, Michele Rose, a petite dark-haired beauty, gushed on and on about the snogging abilities of her current boyfriend, a Ravenclaw seventh year by the name of Neil (his surname escaped Hermione's divided attention). Though her roommates initially showed interest in her monologue, eventually they tired, and as much out of desperation to change the subject as interest in Hermione's love life, one brave roommate posed the question.

"So tell us, Hermione, how good of a kisser is Harry?"

Hermione's insides jumped at the inquiry. At first she felt this to be none of their business, but on the other hand, by now she well understood the dynamics of the girls' dormitories. If she did not deal with this now, her roommates would hound her for the rest of the year.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she responded coyly to the questioner, Melissa, a red-head who bore a slight resemblance to Ginny. "If I tell you, you might send an owl to the Daily Prophet tonight. I'll be reading all about Harry's snogging abilities in the morning edition."

Her five roommates protested vigorously that they would do no such thing, though they knew Hermione did not truly suspect that any of them would reveal the secret to such a wide audience. The secret would lose all of its value. Soon they returned to their nervous giggling, and now that Melissa had opened the door, the five happily pressured the older witch for an answer.

"Harry's so handsome now," Michele opined, "especially when he hasn't shaved for a few days." Even Hermione had to agree with that assessment.

"OK, OK," she finally conceded, "I'll tell you." She paused for several seconds, both to increase her roommates' sense of anticipation, and from a touch of embarrassment. "I don't know."  
Of all the answers she could have given, the five girls in the dormitory would never have guessed that one. They stared at Hermione in disbelief.

"We've never kissed. Well, that's not exactly true. I did kiss Harry one time, but that doesn't really count."

"Why wouldn't it count?" asked three of the girls simultaneously.

Hermione did not understand why she mentioned that moment, but she had no opportunity to talk about her feelings for Harry with anyone, and even if her five roommates could not be classified as close friends, they would have to do.

"It doesn't count because I kissed him just a few seconds before he left to duel Lord Voldemort on New Years Eve. I didn't know if I would ever see him again." Her voice trailed off to a whisper.

The girls flinched slightly at mention of the dark lord's name, which despite his death still caused that reaction among most in the magical world, but all noise in the room ceased.

Finally Melissa commented quietly, "That must have been so hard."

Hermione nodded, her eyes glazed as she thought back to the events of the year.

"It was hard. It's been the hardest year of my life. I've lost so much. Harry has lost even more." A tear escaped from each of her eyes. The five girls for once in their lives could think of nothing to say.

After a long silence, Hermione continued, "You have no idea what Harry has been through. Nobody does. You've never had to live with the weight of the world on your shoulders every minute of every day, knowing that the most powerful dark lord in centuries wanted to kill you, and that the only way out of it was to kill the dark lord first. You've never lost so many people who were important to you. You've never had to live with the soul of the dark lord inside of you for months, having to use every ounce of energy to keep from being controlled by him. You've never felt the guilt of being saved by the sacrifice of the life of someone you love. Then to lose his best friend. It's all just been too much for him. He isn't ready yet. He hasn't adjusted."

During the course of the conversation, the five girls unknowingly moved closer to Hermione, two at the foot of her bed, the other three stretched out on the nearest bed to hers. The conversation had not proceeded in the direction they anticipated, but they listened captivated nonetheless.

"Do you think he'll get better?" asked Melissa.

"I'm not sure. He's the strongest person I know, but I don't like what is happening here. He's holed up in his rooms, the teachers have been told not to ask him to do anything, students are afraid to talk to him. This is NOT what he needs!" The frustration burst through her otherwise calm voice.

"What can you do?" asked the most timid of the group, a pudgy girl by the name of Sarah. She reminded Hermione of a younger Amelda Barlow, the type of person you hardly notice but has more between her ears than most of the others. "Is there anything we can do to help?"

Hermione turned her head sharply, surprised by the offer. Suddenly an idea formed in her brain.

"You know what? I think you can."

All of Hermione's roommates took Advanced Charms with Harry and Hermione. The morning after their late night conversation, a Friday, they all marched into Professor Flitwick's class. The diminutive professor as usual nodded his greeting to Harry, but as in the half dozen Charms classes so far, Flitwick otherwise completely ignored him. All of the other professors acted similarly, and Harry soon determined that Professor McGonagall had given the order. He had no complaints and thought that he should thank the headmistress. Sitting comfortably next to Hermione, he enjoyed each class without the worry of speaking before a large group.

The class progressed like the others, Professor Flitwick explaining certain confusing sections of their assigned readings when unexpectedly a hand shot into the air.

"Yes Miss Rose."

"Excuse me, Professor, but you mentioned wide-scale magic in our last class, and the book also referred to it. But all I can gather is that it is extremely difficult. Why is that?"

"Yes," added Melissa, "and why isn't it taught at Hogwarts?"

Harry fidgeted nervously in his seat.

"Well," responded the small man happily, "that is a very good question. The fact of the matter is that few if any students of your age have the magical power and development needed for such magic. In fact few adult wizards can perform wide-scale magic to any significant degree. I confess that I myself am incapable of providing a reasonable demonstration. If you are interested, perhaps I can find a witch or wizard who . . ."

"Harry can do it," Hermione interrupted loudly, failing to raise her hand, "I've seen him. He can rearrange an entire room with just a clap of his hands."

Flitwick froze, unsure how to deal with this turn of events. The headmistress left all of the faculty specific instructions with regard to Mr. Potter.

"Yes, well, I don't think Mr. Potter desires . . ."

"Can you really, Harry?" cried the voice of Michele.

"Can you show us?" added the quieter voice of Sarah.

Harry stared at Hermione, understanding exactly what had occurred. She wanted him to stand up in front of the class and demonstrate. Hermione stared back with a guilty smile on her face.

"Go on, Harry," she whispered, "You can do it. It's easy for you, and the class would get a lot out of it."

Harry looked at Flitwick and tried to decline, "I don't think Professor Flitwick has time for that. Maybe some other time." Cries from the entire class responded to his feeble attempt.

"C'mon Harry, show us." "Please, Harry, I've never seen it up close." "How is it done, Harry?" Flitwick merely looked at Harry and shrugged his shoulders.

A wave of panic surged in Harry's stomach but stopped before it reached his head.

"I can do this," he thought, "It's nothing really." Finally he issued a brief instruction, "Everybody go to the front of the classroom."

Harry remained seated next to Hermione for a few moments while the rest of the class trouped to the front of the large, tiered room. Their eyes met for a few seconds, and Hermione knew that she irritated Harry with her little ruse, but she hoped that it would have the effect she desired. She anxiously left their ancient two-person desk on one side, after which Harry slowly slid out the other. He moved deliberately to the front of the class, the rest of the students and Professor Flitwick standing behind him.

The class looked expectantly at him, and Harry could not help but notice the admiration in their eyes. And the anticipation. They had heard of his power and abilities, but most of them had never seen a demonstration up close. Wide-scale magic! Even their parents could not perform such magic well, if at all, and most witches and wizards did not attempt it. Only great wizards such as Albus Dumbledore possessed the power and confidence to perform wide-scale magic on a routine basis.

"It's really not that hard," Harry began tentatively, "if you have enough power. I'm not really sure how much power you need, but you just need to focus on the end result that you want, and then channel your magic through a clap instead of a wand. The magic then spreads out over a wide area instead of being directed at a narrow target." The more he explained, the more comfortable he felt. "It's useful for moving things around, but not for much else. Let's see what I can do."

Though Harry had only performed such magic in the small living room of Dumbledore's flat, he harbored no doubts that he could rearrange the much larger Charms classroom as well. He decided that he would rearrange the large room from front to back, moving the front desks to the back and vice versa. Capturing that image in his mind, he spread his arms out wide, paused, and then violently slapped his hands together.

The mass of students behind him gasped happily as the more than twenty large desks flew around the room, amazingly avoiding each other and somehow not dripping a drop of ink or shedding a sheet of parchment. The front desks moved to the back of the room, and now faced away from the young witches and wizards. Finally, Professor Flitwick's desk flew high above the others, turning around in midair and coming to rest at the back of the room. A few moments before, the crowd had been standing at the front of the classroom; now it stood at the rear.

Spontaneous applause broke out, and Harry's classmates shook their heads in appreciation. By this point, seventh-years knew the difference between easy, moderate and difficult magic, and what they had just witnessed pointed well towards the most difficult end of the spectrum. Despite Harry's assertion that "It's really not that hard," they knew instinctively that they had no hope of performing the same act, just as a person automatically knows whether or not he can jump across a chasm. You either can or you cannot.

Professor Flitwick literally jumped for joy at the demonstration, and a moment later had his wand out yelling, "Pillows, pillows, pillows." He magically threw some two dozen cushions, which he often used for various exercises, all around the huge classroom. "If you don't mind, Harry, let's see if you can use your wide-scale magic to return the pillows to their normal resting place."

Harry never thought to use this style of magic for this purpose. In fact, he recalled practicing with Ron the use of his wand to move a few pillows at a time, but certainly not two dozen. Nevertheless, it could not be nearly as difficult as moving solid wooden desks. He again surveyed the room, visualized the cushions stacked neatly in the corner, and briskly clapped his hands together. Instantly, the pillows whooshed through the air, nearly side-swiping a few students before orderly stacking themselves. Again, the onlookers voiced their appreciation.

Hermione clapped along with them, her heart pumping faster than it had in months. For the first time since New Year's Eve, she glimpsed the REAL Harry Potter. Not the Voldemort-ravaged shell of the first months of the year nor the guilt-ridden basket case since his reawakening at St. Mungo's. Finally she had hard evidence that the REAL Harry still existed, and just needed a helping hand. She could not prevent a single tear from escaping her right eye, which she immediately wiped away.

Later that Friday, in the early evening, Harry and Hermione walked hand in hand, as they commonly did, towards his rooms.

"Why don't you just tell me?" laughed Hermione. Since Charms in the morning, she had experienced a wonderful day. Even though Harry returned to his normal quiet demeanor for the rest of the day, a corner had been turned. Harry informed her several times during the day that he had a surprise for her, but he resolutely refused to divulge any further information.

"You'll know soon enough," he replied, and true to his word, a few seconds later he recited the password, allowing the two to pass through the door. One look inside and they both gasped.

"I told her to make a small cake, just for the two of us. It's your birthday tomorrow, and I just wanted a little celebration tonight," Harry explained incredulously.

"Looks like Winky went a little overboard," commented Hermione, whose chuckle turned into side-splitting laughter.

Before them sat a three-tiered cake a meter in diameter covered with thick chocolate frosting. On the middle tier shone the words "Happy Birthday Miss Hermione." The use of the word "Miss" by the elf only caused them to laugh even harder.

"Thank you for the thought, Harry," Hermione exclaimed after recovering from her bout of laughter. She hugged her friend happily, then asked, "But my birthday is tomorrow. Why did you want to give this to me today?"

"That's because of your present," the handsome young wizard replied, pulling an envelop out of the pocket of his robe. Hermione opened the envelop to find two passes to Hogsmeade, dated for Saturday, her birthday.

"Oh, Harry!" she gushed, "That's a wonderful idea. I can't think of a better present."

"Well, actually, I wanted to be able to buy you a present while we're there. This is just a part of your present." The two embraced happily again. Hermione glanced back to the cake while her head rested on Harry's chest.

"What are we going to do with that?" she asked, "It's way too big for us."

"We'll take it to the common room," Harry decided, "It will be gone in five minutes. Let's cut a piece for ourselves first."

Fifteen minutes later, Harry levitated the cake down the hall while Hermione recited the password to open the portrait door to the Gryffindor common room. Harry had to take care maneuvering the cake through the opening, and he entered his old stomping grounds for the first time since he left it the previous November, the night that Voldemort attacked the Ministry and the students abandoned Hogwarts Castle. The hairs on his arms stood up, but he tried to control his emotions. He would simply place the cake on a table, tell everyone to dig in, and leave.

Immediately he heard the voices: "What's that!" "Look at the size of that cake." "Hey, Harry Potter is here. Look what he brought." Within moments, all the occupants of the common room gathered around Harry and Hermione, the latter clearing a path for the cake and Harry. He gently placed it on the closest table, then stood nervously before the fifty or so Gryffindors surrounding him.

Meekly he explained, "It's Hermione's birthday. The house elf went a little overboard on the cake I asked for. We thought we'd let everyone enjoy it, so help yourself." He did not have to offer twice, for in a blink of an eye paper plates appeared and a few of the older girls took charge of cutting the cake and serving it in some semblance of order. Noise increasingly filled the room and calls of "Happy Birthday" to Hermione could be heard, but she noticed that Harry had turned quickly, headed back to his rooms. She ran the few steps to him, slipped her arm through his, and asked him to stay awhile. He acceded to her wishes, grudgingly.

Excitement filled the room due to the unexpected arrival of the cake and the first appearance of Harry Potter in the common room. Soon many of his house mates thanked him for the cake, to which Harry responded numerous times that he did not make the cake, that they should be thanking Winky. As more students continued to thank him, the more he thought that Winky deserved the praise. He had done nothing.

"They SHOULD be thanking Winky," he thought more vigorously, and when the next student thanked him for the cake, a circuit in Harry's brain finally blew.

"Wait a minute," he ordered the shocked fourth-year, who did not expect anything more than a nod from Harry Potter. "Winky, come here please," Harry called.

The house elf arrived a moment later, probably thinking that she would appear in Harry's rooms as usual. Shock can only describe the look on her face when she first realized where she had arrived. Her expression mirrored that of many Gryffindors in the expansive room, surprised at the presence of a house elf. Within seconds, the chattering and laughing of the crowd died down to silence. All eyes stared at Harry and Winky.

"This is Winky. I asked her to make a small birthday cake for Hermione, and, well she produced this wonderful cake," Harry explained loudly for all to hear, "You should thank her for the cake, not me. I didn't do anything but float it over here."

Silence greeted Harry's words, confused eyes looking left and right. His narrowing eyes indicated his increasing irritation. Hermione sensed a crisis coming and decided to set an example.

"Thank you for the beautiful cake, Winky," she gushed as naturally as she could, and she knelt down on a knee to give the stunned elf a loose hug. Hermione stood up again and moved to the side. Nobody moved nor spoke a word for several seconds.

"Winky has much work in the kitchen, Harry Potter. Winky will go back to . . . "

"Stay right here, Winky," Harry ordered while glaring at the gathered crowd.

Finally Sarah, Hermione's timid and plain roommate, stepped forward, her near empty plate in her hand.

"Thank you, Winky. The cake was delicious."

Soon Hermione's other roommates also expressed their thanks to the tiny elf, and "Thank you, Winky," and "The cake tasted great" could be heard for the next couple of minutes as most of the students in the common room made some effort to express their thanks for the cake. Harry knew that most of them did this because he hovered nearby, watching them like an offended Hippogriff. A few, however, tried their best to sneak away unnoticed. To their misfortune, Harry noticed.

"Are you too special to say 'Thank you' to Winky, Owen?" Harry asked a fifth-year, loudly enough to be easily heard by all. "And you, Richardson?" More than one Gryffindor backed away from Harry when they saw the barely controlled anger in his eyes. The manner of speaking the words conveyed more meaning than the words themselves.

Jeffrey Owen, Harry knew, came from one of the richest and most elite pure-blood families in all Britain. In fact, Harry recalled that Dumbledore mentioned them in one of their conversations. Undoubtedly his family possessed a dozen house elves or more, and equally undoubtedly, Jeffrey Owen had never thanked one of them in his fifteen years of life. An unremarkable boy, except for his pedigree, Owen stood several inches shorter than Harry, with thin and lanky blond hair hanging to his neck. Slender as an eel, he appeared never to have exercised a day in his life. Though his family never allied itself with Voldemort or other muggle-haters, it nevertheless harbored the snobbishness of the elite class. The idea of thanking a house elf struck him as ludicrous, for which reason he attempted his stealthy escape. Now he had to face the music.

"I couldn't get close enough," he lied, "I just, . . . didn't want to fight my way through the crowd."

"Step aside everyone," Harry instructed, "Let Owen and Richardson come through." He waited a few seconds during which time the two boys approached him. "Now's your chance."

Richardson, a pudgy fourth-year with short sandy hair and sad brown eyes, probably had just not wanted to bother coming forward before, and he quickly murmured a meek, "Thank you for the cake, Winky."

Owen paused, everyone staring at him, hoping he would simply express his thanks and avoid further embarrassment. Yet he could not open his mouth. The idea of demeaning himself to such a level struck him in the same way as a request to eat live cockroaches. Nevertheless, with so much pressure on him, his tongue moved between his teeth, preparing to pronounce the "th" of "thank you." No sound emerged.

"She's a house elf, Harry," he suddenly blurted out, "It's just not done."

Everyone in the common room thought some variation of the same thought, "How could he be so stupid!" Of course, Gryffindors are known for their bravery, not necessarily their intelligence.

Harry's insides boiled, and his hand twitched in desire to grasp his wand and try out some advanced magic on the snob. Hermione feared that Harry would lose control and quickly moved to his side, grabbing his left arm. Harry stared at the scrawny teen for what seemed like minutes, absolute silence filling the large room.

"Dobby, come here please," Harry spoke slowly and carefully, working hard to master his anger. The elf appeared a moment later, opening his mouth to greet Harry, but leaving it open when he realized that dozens of Gryffindors stared at him.

"Without Dobby, I would be dead," Harry explained in a low, threatening growl, "and Lord Voldemort would be your master right now. Dobby helped me so many times, I can't count them all. By himself he stunned three death eaters when I dueled Voldemort on New Year's Eve. Without Dobby and Winky, more death eaters would have killed Hermione and me after I killed Voldemort, but they and several other house elves, most of them right here from Hogwarts, arrived at Godric's Hollow and stunned them all. Wizards did not do that. House elves did! House elves that your family, Owen, and many families like yours, have treated like dirt for centuries."

The two elves stood uncomfortably next to Harry and Hermione, but not nearly as uncomfortably as Jeffrey Owen, subject to the brunt of Harry's angry words and piercing green eyes. When he mentioned "many families like yours," the green eyes left their target and scanned the dozens of paralyzed Gryffindors. The accusation hit many of them whose families owned one or more house elves. Even the muggle-born felt guilt at their failure to appreciate house elves appropriately.

Owen felt the eyes of Gryffindor House upon him, and he finally caved.

"Thank you," he softly but clearly pronounced to Winky and Dobby. Harry continued to stare daggers at him, so the boy reluctantly added, "The cake tasted great."

As his blood pressure returned to near normal levels, Harry realized what a scene he had created. He never intended to cause any commotion, and now that everyone stared at him, he wanted to leave as quickly as possible.

"Enjoy your cake," he muttered tersely to the silent room, turning towards the door to leave. Hermione still held on to his arm, so she turned with him and in a moment the two walked slowly down the passage towards Harry's rooms. For a minute they remained silent, absorbing the unexpected events of the past half hour, until Harry heard a brief chuckle from his female friend. She shook again from inner laughter, and Harry glanced at her, seeing a growing smile on her face.

"What's so funny?" he asked bluntly, "I don't see anything funny about it."

Hermione only smiled more broadly, explaining, "It WAS funny, in a way. You should have seen the faces of the first and second years. They looked at you as if you were Merlin himself. But that's not why I'm smiling. I'm just happy." Harry scrunched his eyes in confusion.

"What's there to be happy about. I just made a fool of myself, my house thinks I'm a complete nutter, and worst of all, they're right."  
Hermione abruptly stopped and with her elbow detained her walking partner too, turning him towards her. Just as unexpectedly, she wrapped her arms around Harry and embraced him with all of her might.

Harry gladly hugged her back but asked, "What's this for? Are you trying to squeeze the craziness out of me? Don't think it will work."

"No, Harry," responded Hermione, her eyes welling with tears of happiness, "Don't you realize what happened tonight?" Based on Harry's blank expression, she gathered that he did not. "You became angry. You cared about something so much that you became angry. THAT is the Harry Potter that I know. Not this imposter that's been hanging around with me these past couple of weeks, sitting quiet as a mouse in his classes and avoiding everyone but me. No! The Harry Potter I know is the one who acts first and thinks about it later. And for the first time since New Year's Eve, I have seen the real Harry Potter, and I couldn't be happier."

Harry closed the door behind him and sat on his sofa, staring at the wall for twenty minutes. Tomorrow Hermione and he would celebrate her birthday in Hogsmeade. Finally, the young wizard made a decision.

"Tomorrow!"

Harry and Hermione strolled hand in hand out the front gate of Hogwarts down to the village of Hogsmeade. Harry could not remember the last time he set foot in the town, and flashes of his past visits passed by his eyes: In Madame Puddifoot's with Cho, Draco Malfoy by the Shrieking Shack, in Zonko's with Ron. Hermione also seemed to be lost in her thoughts, and the two strode down the gentle slope in a comfortable silence.

Prior to reaching the edge of town, Harry pointed to his right and suggested, "Let's walk down by the lake for a bit. The stores are just opening now." Hermione had no objection, having no plans for her birthday other than spending the day with Harry. They crossed over an uneven area of rocks and sparse grass until they met a path carved into the land by thousands of footsteps over the centuries. Soon the trail met the lake and stretched out ahead, mimicking the contours of the shore. The pace of the two friends slowed, as the whole day lay before them. Finally they found a large boulder, perhaps half a mile up the trail, against which they leaned while gazing across the expanse of water. They removed their robes in the pleasant weather, and Harry tensed slightly as Hermione snuggled into his side.

"Is something wrong, Harry?" she asked, only slightly concerned, "You seem awfully quiet today. Are you thinking about last night?"  
"No, it's not that," Harry responded truthfully, for he had not thought about the scene in the Gryffindor common room at all. Hermione looked up at him, waiting for more. Harry gazed at her face, but avoided her eyes. "It's just . . ., I've been thinking about everything you've done for me since . . . it happened. I haven't ever really thanked you. Without you, I never would have made it through the summer."

"You've thanked me lots of times, Harry," Hermione insisted, "You don't have to say . . ."

"No, I haven't," Harry interrupted, "Not really. At least not with the same understanding that I have now. I was really a mess. I'm still a mess, but I think I'm less messy than before." He smiled at his statement. "Does that make any sense at all?" His friend smiled broadly, wrapping her right arm around Harry's left, nodding her head.

"Of course, I understand, Harry. I was a mess too, you know. It hasn't been an easy time for any of us. I finally feel almost normal again."

Harry nodded and added, "I know you had a hard time too, and I'm sorry I wasn't able to be there for you, the way you were for me. I just couldn't. I'm too weak."

Hermione released Harry's arm and abruptly stood up and stepped in front of Harry, a stern expression on her face.

"I'll have none of that, Harry Potter. You are the strongest person I have ever known. Don't get me started!" Her expression softened. "And you _were_ there for me. Literally. You came back. You decided to live. That was all I needed."

"I came back because of you, Hermione. You know that, don't you?" Harry asked softly, and he reached out an arm. Hermione leaned into him as the arm wrapped around her back.

"I know," she whispered, "I asked you to come back. I was being selfish, but I couldn't lose you too. It was so . . . ." Hermione's voice choked.

Harry moved his arm up her back and softly caressed her hair. Neither spoke a word for a minute.

Without changing his movements, Harry whispered into her ear, "I think I'm ready now, Hermione." The young witch did not understand.

"You're ready for what, Harry?" she asked, but when she looked into his green eyes, she knew. This time Harry did not avert his eyes but stared intensely into hers. "Are you sure?"

Harry did not answer. Instead he slowly moved his head towards Hermione's, his heart pounding. This would be his third first kiss. He could barely remember Cho's, not really understanding what had happened until afterwards. Ginny's had been wonderful and spontaneous.

But Harry had pondered this first kiss for two weeks, ever since he declined it after the opening feast. He wanted to do it; he knew Hermione wanted to do it. But whenever he thought about it, images of Ginny invaded his mind. She had sacrificed herself for him, and now, just a few short months later, Harry and Hermione would kiss for the first time, the first of many no doubt, as if nothing had happened. Part of him felt that he should shun women for the rest of his life, become a confirmed bachelor in the pattern of Albus Dumbledore so as not to sully the sacrifice and memory of Ginny Weasley.

Yet Dumbledore himself regretted the lonely life he led, Harry recalled, reliving the many conversations of the two men. _I doubt that you would choose a life like mine, Harry._

"Do I really want to be alone the rest of my life?" he asked himself in self-examination while sitting silently in his rooms at night, "I've been alone my entire life. Did Ginny throw herself in front of me so that I can live one hundred years as a sad and lonely man?" Though the answer had been obvious from the beginning, as each day passed, he began to believe it. The images that his mind created of the red-headed witch gradually changed, becoming less stern but more accepting.

He wished that Ginny would give him a sign, come to him in a dream or vision, let him know that she did not object. But no ghostly image of his girlfriend appeared, no magical writing on the wall, no unmistakable omen. Nevertheless, Harry had his knowledge of her, and he asked himself whether he would have wanted Ginny to remain alone for the rest of her life had he succeeded in sacrificing himself for her. _Of course not! I would want her to live a full and happy life. So why would she want anything different for me?_ Yet the thought that he, Harry James Potter, could ever lead a truly happy life astonished him, even scared him.

"I have to do this," he convinced himself the previous evening, after the cake incident. "Tomorrow!"

Tomorrow become today, and Harry's lips continued on their short journey to Hermione's, who had tilted her head upwards and to the side. Her heart pounded as hard as Harry's, realizing the importance of this event. This kiss would formalize their union, make official what up to this moment had been implicit. When their lips made contact, there would be no turning back. No other woman could understand what Harry suffered, and no other man could understand what she experienced. This first kiss contained an agreement, implied though it may be, that they would never part.

Though nervous, Hermione did not waver. She had contemplated the importance of this moment since before Harry reawakened. Her decision had been made the moment in St. Mungo's when she told Harry that she loved him. If Harry would have her, she would have him. Forever.

Finally the lips of the two friends touched, ever so lightly, where they lingered for a few seconds. They had done it. Hermione lifted her left hand, placing it behind Harry's head, gently applying pressure downwards. At the same time, Harry's left arm wrapped around Hermione's back, gently pulling her upwards. As a result, their lips pressed more tightly, and the kiss intensified. Harry wrapped both arms around his new girlfriend, while Hermione closed her eyes, the emotion of months of patience escaping. The kiss may have appeared slightly awkward to an onlooker, but the two participants did not care. They would have plenty of opportunity to practice.

The two broke apart and stared into each other's eyes for a few moments. The kiss had not been especially romantic or passionate. Instead it fulfilled a necessary ritual. The boundaries of their seven-year friendship had been broken, and now they gave each other permission to step beyond. Their faces relaxed from the relief of having taken that step. Like magnets, their lips met again, in a far more romantic moment, and as the passion mounted, and the two teens soon forgot all about their earlier nerves.


	45. Chapter 45

Chapter 45

You'll Never Be Normal

Harry insisted that he buy Hermione a birthday present, despite Hermione's protests that this day already won the prize of best birthday ever. Her boyfriend, however, had a gift in mind.

"Why are we coming here?" Hermione asked, as Harry happily dragged his girlfriend towards a formal dress store, "I don't need a dress."

"Of course you do," Harry responded, "because of the . . . . Wait a minute, I have to ask you first, don't I?" Hermione's eyes betrayed her confusion. Harry cleared his throat. "Hermione, would you like to go to the Halloween Ball with me?"

The shocked witch laughed, "Of course I do, Harry."

"Great! That means you need a gown. Let's go."

Hermione's resistence finally evaporated, and she enthusiastically entered the store, taking a good hour before deciding on a colorful blue and red gown. Perhaps austere colors would have been more appropriate for a formal ball, but the bright colors matched her mood. The quick kisses between the rows of dresses did nothing to dampen her enthusiasm.

Hunger may have been delayed by the morning activities, but by two in the afternoon, the pair made their way to The Three Broomsticks for a late lunch. Hermione placed her Daily Prophet on the table while they ate. She had not had an opportunity to read it at breakfast and placed it in the pocket of her robe for later. Harry glanced at a headline upside-down, and then turned the paper towards him to make sure he read it correctly.

**HOUSE ELF LAW FACING DEFEAT**

The two read the article quietly, moving their chairs next to each other, their fingers intertwined under the table. Hermione could sense the anger rising inside of the young wizard. Remus Lupin's proposed revision to the law regulating house elves faced opposition in the Wizengamot and appeared destined to result in embarrassing defeat for the werewolf. According to the article, the law would add protections for house elves, including the right to demand freedom under certain circumstances and sanctions against mistreatment of the creatures. Members of the Wizengamot argued that no reason to revise existing law existed now that their world had returned to normal. Instead a public relations campaign could be initiated encouraging the humane treatment of house elves. Hermione could almost see steam escape from Harry's ears as his jaw tightened.

"I can't believe this!" he finally muttered, squeezing the blood out of Hermione's hand, "How can they do that? A public relations campaign! Who do they think they're fooling?"

"They're not fooling anyone, Harry," Hermione explained, "It's just politics. It's their way to kill the law without seeming insensitive to house elves. The bottom line is that they don't want the Ministry to have anything to do with how they treat their own slaves." The disdain in her voice matched Harry's anger.

"We have to talk to Remus," Harry decided, and he moved his chair back, intending to leave right away.

"OK, Harry, but we can't go to the Ministry now. We only have a pass for Hogsmeade."

"So what!" Harry, now standing, retorted furiously, "What's McGonagall going to do? Expel me? Give me detention? I don't care. I can't just sit here when . . . Not after everything Dobby has done for me. I owe it him, and to Winky, and Lefty, and to all the elves who fought at Godric's Hollow. We need to talk to Remus!"

"Let's think this through for a minute, Harry. Sit down." Harry paused but reluctantly complied. "If we just show up at the Ministry now, we'll cause a huge scene. Remember Diagon Alley last year? Multiply that by ten. We'll never even come close to finding Remus. Let's send him an owl right now. He'll receive it in an hour or so. We'll tell him to meet us here, before we have to head back to the castle."

Harry's scowl slowly softened into a sheepish smile, and he admitted, "I hate it when you're right." Hermione returned a victorious smile, but a second later it vanished.

"You're right to be upset, Harry. This is outrageous. Let's go and send that owl."

They spent two hours nervously walking hand in hand about the nearly vacant streets of Hogsmeade hoping that Remus would be able to honor their request to meet them by the Shrieking Shack. Harry's shaky emotional state took a severe hit by the Prophet article, and he had rarely felt this jumble of emotions. He still experienced the thrill and relief of his morning session with Hermione, but the failure of the house elf law, of which he knew nothing prior to this day, angered him deeply. Too deeply, he thought, not sure why this affected him so profoundly. Eventually they strolled quietly over to the shack, waiting under a tree where Harry wrapped his arm around his girlfriend.

At the appointed time, they heard the tell-tale crack announcing the arrival of Remus Lupin. Harry and Hermione jumped to their feet, and they saw that Remus appeared by the other end of the structure.

"Over here," called Hermione, and Remus waved. They decided to chat among some trees up the hill from the shack, as Remus preferred not to be seen in Hogsmeade at a time when he should be at the Ministry. The Daily Prophet had not treated him especially kindly, and he learned to take measures to control its access to him.

"I'm sorry to bring you here on such short notice," Harry apologized, "I know you must be terribly busy, but I just couldn't believe what I read about the house elf law. Is it really going to fail?"

"Don't apologize, Harry, seeing you two is the highlight of my day. Of my week, to tell you the truth," Remus responded kindly. Despite the pressures of his job, Harry noticed that the appearance of his father's last living friend had improved since the days before Voldemort's demise. He had a steady income and clearly ate more regularly, having added a few pounds. Some of the lines on his face had vanished, and he seemed to have lost ten years. In the pleasant weather, he slipped off his robe, which Harry noted had been recently purchased and bore little resemblance to Remus' threadbare garments of the past.

"We saw the Prophet article today, Remus," Hermione explained, "and we couldn't believe that the reforms won't pass, after everything that house elves did to defeat Voldemort. Doesn't everyone know what Dobby and the others did?"

"The Wizengamot knows, " Remus responded, "because we have informed them. It's in all of our reports. But the Daily Prophet and other magazines have not followed up on the story, probably on purpose. The old guard just wants it all to fade away quietly. They'll agree to a 'public relations' campaign, which will amount to a couple of advertisements in the Prophet." The werewolf shook his head, clearly disgusted. "I've tried my best, Harry, but I don't have a lot of pull with the Wizengamot, being what I am. We will lose this battle, but we will not give up. We have plans to introduce a similar proposal in the next session."

Harry knew little of the political process, but instinctively he realized the futility of Remus' plan.

"That will never work, Remus. If the law is not passed now, there's no chance that it will be approved later. This is just wrong! I didn't fight Voldemort so that everything could go back to the way it was." Remus gazed with satisfaction at the young man. He had regained his health and vigor, and now he seemed to have recovered his spirit as well.

"You may very well be right, Harry, but this is how the system works. It's messy and the right thing does not always happen. This is the real world, not a fairy tale."

"What if I write a letter to the Prophet supporting the law. Would that do any good? I'm famous and they'd have to listen to me, right?" Harry asked, not willing to let go.

Remus considered the idea for a moment and opined, "The Prophet might not publish it, or if it did, would write that you are young and impressionable and don't understand these things. Remember, Harry, the Prophet has argued against the law since the beginning. It's owner is a conservative pure blood, not a Voldemort supporter, but not in favor of change either." Remus paused, considering whether he should add a concluding thought, unsure of Harry's psychological condition. Finally he added, "The only thing that might help is if you testified before the Wizengamot. That would put tremendous pressure on them, because all of the press would report your appearance, not only the Prophet. You are still a tremendously popular figure, Harry. But I don't want to ask you to do this; I don't know if you are up to it yet."

Harry shivered at the thought of it. Yes, he had improved greatly over the past few weeks, able to stand in front of a Charms class, but surely not to testify before the Wizengamot. A letter would have been easy; Hermione would have helped him, and that would be that. A personal appearance by him would turn into a circus. He had not addressed the press or appeared in public since he woke from his coma, so a first appearance at the Ministry before the Wizengamot would cause a sensation. Which was exactly what they needed to have a chance to pass the house elf law. Harry paced nervously while Hermione and Remus allowed him to ponder the matter.

He turned away from the others and looked out across the lake towards Hogwarts Castle. Three house elves, all of them his slaves, currently worked there. Though he detested one, he loved the other two, especially Dobby. Harry never would have acquired the veritaserum, never would have located Amelda Barlow or Narcissa Malfoy, never would have defeated Voldemort without Dobby's aid. Even more, Dobby organized a small army of house elves in three minutes to save his life and the lives of the Weasleys and Hermione at Godric's Hollow.

"Only I can do something about this," he thought to himself, "Even if it doesn't work, I have to try. Dobby and Winky deserve it." He turned around and faced Remus and Hermione.

"I'll do it. I have to."

A huge grin formed on Hermione's face, and without thinking, she wrapped her arms around Harry and kissed him passionately. Harry happily reciprocated, but he recalled the presence of Remus Lupin and broke off the kiss more quickly than he preferred. The two teens reddened slightly, but did not care that Remus now knew. They had nothing to hide. Remus merely smiled indulgently and decided to remain on topic.

"Are you sure, Harry? You know that your appearance will create quite a commotion. In fact, I'll do everything I can to cause the commotion. The more the better if we want to pass this law."

Harry and Hermione had wrapped their arms around each other, and after Remus' words, they looked into each other's eyes.

"You'll go with me, won't you?" Harry asked in a worried whisper.

"Of course I will, Harry. I be right next to you the whole time." They smiled at each other and then turned back to the government minister.

"We'll do it!"

Much later that night, after spending additional "quality time" with Harry, a buoyant Hermione entered her dormitory. Her roommates instinctively sensed her happiness, and they examined her closely for a few seconds.

"Well?" asked Melissa.

"Well what?" Hermione responded with a sly grin, knowing exactly what the "what" was.

"You know what!" Michele insisted anxiously, "We can tell just by looking at you. How is he?"

Hermione could not repress a huge smile, and she finally admitted, "Harry's a pretty good kisser, but I think he needs lots of continuing instruction."

The squeals could be heard all the way to the common room.

Two days after the meeting with Remus Lupin, a headline splashed across the front page of the Monday Daily Prophet: **HARRY POTTER TO TESTIFY BEFORE WIZENGAMOT.** Harry ate his breakfast self-consciously, hearing the murmur of students reading the article. Remus previously sent an owl informing Harry of the date of the hearing, in two days time. Many students bore expressions of surprise that Harry Potter would appear before the highest governmental body over, of all things, the subject of house elf rights. Other than those Gryffindors who witnessed Harry's performance in the common room, most students had never given a second thought to house elves.

While finishing their scrambled eggs, Professor McGonagall quietly but sternly whispered between Harry and Hermione, "Please come to my office after you finish your breakfast." The two Gryffindors glanced at each other and nodded their heads.

"Mr. Potter," the headmistress grumbled, "I believe I should have been consulted about your plans." The frown on her face displayed her displeasure as she pointed to the Prophet article. "You need my permission, of course, to leave the grounds. Our agreement of last term no longer applies, as you are well aware."

Harry and Hermione never considered this. They looked at each other silently, neither knowing how to respond. Even if McGonagall denied him permission, Harry would go anyway, regardless of the consequences. Hermione knew this, and her brain busily attempted to formulate a response. Fortunately the headmistress' next words removed that necessity.

"Given the purpose of your absence, however, I believe that my consent will not be withheld." She smiled at her little trick, and her expression turned to one of pride. "What you are planning is most admirable, Harry. Do you feel up to it?" The two students both sighed with relief.

"I think so, Professor. At least I hope so. I will give it my best."

"Of course you will, Harry, and I am going to assist you. Sit! Both of you. Let us think this through."

The headmistress educated the two students on the workings of the Wizengamot, and Professor Dumbledore's portrait added tidbits of information about the sensibilities of various members of that body. After two hours, Harry and Hermione left the office, pleased to have the support of the Hogwarts administration and a better idea of what they faced.

After his last class of the afternoon that day, Harry and Hermione walked quietly towards the Gryffindor common room, where they would part temporarily until dinner as Harry made his way to his rooms. On this day, however, a voice interrupted Harry's normal routine.

"Mr. Potter," asked the high-pitched voice of a young boy, "Mr. Potter, may I speak with you."

Harry turned towards the voice but for a second saw nothing until he lowered his eyes to the short second-year Gryffindor waiting by the common room portrait. Eyeing the boy for a few moments, Harry recognized him.

"You name is David, right?" The boy smiled nervously, pleased that a person such as Harry Potter would know his name.

"Yes, Mr. Potter, David Simons. I was hoping I could talk with you for a minute. . . . If you aren't too busy."

"Sure I can, but first off, my name is Harry. I remember you from last year. You're an excellent flier. We saw you a few times, real natural. A few of us bet that you'd be our seeker some day."

"Thank you, Harry," the boy responded politely, "I love to fly, and that's why I wanted to talk to you. I tried out for the team, and I made it. I'm the new seeker, and I'm terribly nervous about it. I saw the way you flew last year, and I couldn't believe my eyes. So I wondered if maybe you could help me a little. I know I can fly, but I don't know how to be a seeker."

Though twelve years old, the boy had not had his growth spurt and easily could have passed for ten. He reminded Harry of himself a little, messy hair, brown not black, and extremely skinny. Even his face bore a resemblance, except that he wore no glasses. Harry could not help but take a liking to David Simons. He glanced at Hermione, who had listened intently to the conversation, and his girlfriend smiled and motioned with her eyes for Harry to go.

"Meet me by the dressing room in fifteen minutes," Harry instructed the earnest second year, "I'll get my broom."

For an hour, Harry and David flew through the air effortlessly, and Harry found himself even more impressed by his new friend. In fact, David outflew Harry easily for the first ten minutes, given that Harry had not even touched his broom since before Hogwarts closed the previous November. After warming up, however, Harry felt like he had not missed a beat, and he dove, soared, twirled, and rolled, all the while competing with the younger boy to catch the snitch. Most of the time Harry beat David to it, but David grabbed a few and always kept up, even though he had an inferior broom. He flew fearlessly.

The two Gryffindors retired to the dressing room where they downed several glasses of water after their workout, agreeing to more workouts in the future.

"You're already a good seeker, David," Harry encouraged his successor, "There's not a lot I can teach you as far as technique is concerned. I think you could use a better broom. How about I let you use my Firebolt for your practices and games, as long as you promise to take good care of it."

The boy gradually relaxed during their session, and he could not help but smile at Harry's offer, which he quickly accepted.

"What do I need to work on, Harry?"

"Not much. More than anything, catching the snitch is a matter of concentration and desire. When you see that snitch appear, catching it must become the most important thing in your life, like nothing else matters. Afterwards, you can remember that it's just a game, but in the heat of battle, you have to do whatever you have to do."

The younger boy nodded and confidently asserted, "I won't have any problem with that. I'm going to be as great a seeker as you were, and Gryffindor is going to win the Cup again!"

Harry smiled at David's enthusiasm and single-mindedness. A wave of satisfaction passed through him as he realized that the defeat of Voldemort allowed this to happen. David no longer had to worry about dark lords or death eaters; he could concentrate on Quidditch. In a few years he could worry about OWLS and NEWTS and girls. He could be normal. Ginny's sacrifice had not been in vain. David and hundreds of boys and girls like him could lead normal lives again.

"You'll be better than I was," Harry responded, "and I want to see that Cup in the common room."

"Thank you for flying with me, Harry," David said politely, "I didn't think that you would want to." Harry shook his head.

"I know people are a little afraid of me, but there's no need. I've just been through a lot lately. In fact I'm a pretty normal, boring person."

David shook his head vigorously, "You are not normal, Harry. Not after what you've done. You'll never be normal, at least not to all of us younger boys. You are our hero, after killing Voldemort and all."

Something about the young seeker's words hit Harry between the eyes. _You'll never be normal._ He knew this to be true, but for the first time he understood what it meant. People would always listen to him, always be deferential to him, always look to him to be their leader. Harry had two choices. He could run away from it, or he could accept it.

"I don't run away!" he thought to himself, and stood up to make his way to dinner.

Late in the evening of the day before Harry's appearance at the Ministry, Dobby popped into Harry's sitting room as he did every evening. Purportedly the house elf appeared every evening to clean Harry's living space and to inquire of any needs that the wizard may have. In reality, this routine started so that the two friends could meet and discuss anything on their minds. Dobby easily could clean the small rooms in one minute, given the limited damage that Harry could do to them in a day's time.

On this night, Harry held his throbbing head in his hands while seated on the sofa.

"Good evening, Harry Potter," Dobby announced as usual, "Is Harry Potter ill?"

"No Dobby, I'm fine. I'm just exhausted," Harry explained. All that evening, he met with Remus Lupin, Professor McGonagall, and Hermione in the headmistress' office, reviewing the plans for the testimony. The three acted as interrogators, asking Harry every difficult question that they could anticipate, and if Harry's response seemed lacking, the four together fashioned a more adequate answer. "Tomorrow will be a big day. I had to prepare."

"Harry Potter does not need to talk to Dobby tonight. Harry Potter needs to sleep." Dobby quickly straightened up the room, planning an early exit.

"No, Dobby. I need to speak with you tonight. And with Winky too. Winky!" Harry called, and a second house elf appeared.

"Good evening, Harry Potter," squeaked the tiny elf, "Is there anything that Harry Potter needs?"

"Yes, Winky, I need to speak with the two of you," Harry replied. He intended the ask them to sit, but the sitting room contained no chair suitable for an elf. He figured that they would prefer to stand anyway. "You know that tomorrow I testify before the Wizengamot about the house elf reforms."

"All the house elves know, Harry Potter," exclaimed Dobby proudly, "All the house elves now know that Harry Potter is a great wizard. Only Harry Potter would do something like this for house elves."

"Thank you, Dobby, but I have to tell you something that you may not like," Harry stammered, suddenly extremely nervous. He tried his best to smile, but only managed a grimace. "I never wanted to have a slave, and somehow I ended up with three. Slavery is something I do not believe in, for any reason. These past days, I've had to rethink everything I've ever thought about house elves and slavery, and I've come to a decision."

Winky immediately understood Harry's intention and began to cry.

"Not clothes, Harry Potter! Not clothes! Winky does not want to be free. Winky likes being a slave. Harry Potter is a great master. Please no clothes!"

Harry gulped, his resolve shaken, but he quickly recovered. He HAD to do this.

"I'm sorry, Winky, but I must free both of you. I wanted to free Kreacher, but Professor McGonagall and Mr. Lupin convinced me that he would die. So instead, I transferred ownership of him to Hogwarts. But I do not want to transfer either of you to Hogwarts or another witch or wizard. I want you to continue to be my friends, to continue to work for me, just like you are now." His voice pleaded with the elves to understand him. "But I want you to work for me because you WANT to, not because you are my slaves."

Both elves swayed nervously as Dobby countered, "If Dobby and Winky will do the same work, then why does Harry Potter need to free his slaves? Dobby and Winky are happy as Harry Potter's slaves."

"Because I can't go before the Wizengamot tomorrow knowing that I own two slaves. I can't speak to the entire wizarding world about the injustice of the system, if I am a part of it, even if I have never abused you. A slave is a slave, and it is wrong!" Harry exclaimed, and the two elves cast their eyes to the floor. Winky still cried softly.

Dobby, however, straightened his back and responded proudly, "Dobby will be honored to be Harry Potter's friend as a free elf. Dobby will help Winky. Winky has helped Dobby since Miss Ginny died. Harry Potter knows that Dobby suffered after Miss Ginny died and Harry Potter almost died. Winky helped Dobby to go back to work and to be happy. Now Dobby will help Winky to be happy as a free elf." Harry smiled at his friend.

"You are the true hero, Dobby," he averred softly, "You don't know how much I admire you. And Winky, you have served both Dobby and me extremely well when we needed it most. I would very much like you to stay with Dobby and me as a free elf. But if you prefer, I will transfer ownership of you to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. They would be kind masters."

Winky continued to sniff, now confused as well as sad. She looked back and forth between Dobby and Harry, clearly undecided.  
Dobby spoke to her in their elvish tongue, and soon the two had what appeared to Harry to be a heartfelt conversation Though nervous, he enjoyed the soft lilting quality of their words, and remained silent. Finally the two elves smiled at each other.

"Winky will stay with Harry Potter and with Dobby. Winky will try to be a good free elf." She looked at Dobby again, and the larger elf smiled broadly and let out a sigh of relief.

Harry smiled broadly too. He stood and moved to his small bedroom where he pulled out a pair of socks from his dresser. Undoing the rolled-up socks, he stood before the two elves.

"May you always be my friends," the wizard wished, handing one sock to each elf.

The next morning, Harry Potter found himself seated at a long polished wooden table in between his "advisors," Minerva McGonagall and Hermione Granger. In front of him, a row of elderly witches and wizards paraded to their seats in the front of the huge chamber, used infrequently by the Wizengamot for events attracting large crowds. The testimony of Harry Potter most certainly met this definition.

Hermione and he already ran the gauntlet of photographers, well-wishers, and admirers from the apparation area of the Ministry to the Wizengamot chamber. They self-consciously waved for the cameras and the on-lookers, following Remus' instructions. The government minister orchestrated as wild a scene as he could, all to enhance the media pressure on the Wizengamot. As he sat at the table waiting for the proceedings to begin, he asked himself once again how he ever put himself into this mess.

From the moment he appeared out of thin air at the Ministry, the entire building buzzed with excitement. The last two images that the wizarding world saw of Harry Potter were the photographs taken by Benjamin Duval, the iconic image in front of Gringotts, and the haunting portrait taken in St. Mungo's after Harry awoke from his coma. Both images portrayed a gaunt, mysterious, dangerous young man. The Harry Potter which appeared before them today seemed like a pussycat by comparison. His hair, though still unruly, did not even reach below his neck, and several months of proper eating removed the gauntness from his face. McGonagall provided him with a silky formal black robe with deep red embroidery, and his face lacked any sign of facial hair.

Finally the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, entered the large hearing room from a back door, resplendent in the Minister's black, red and green robe, the crossed-wands emblem of the Ministry sewn onto each sleeve. Kingsley appeared more or less the same as the last time Harry saw him, but he carried an air of authority after nine months as the head of government. Though not a voting member of the Wizengamot, Shacklebolt as Minister of Magic possessed the right to preside over the governing body's meetings. Often the Minister did not attend routine sessions, but Shacklebolt would not have dreamed of missing today's event.  
"Today we have the great pleasure and honor of welcoming Harry Potter to this special session of the Wizengamot," boomed the voice of the Minister of Magic, the murmur of the crowd immediately dying down. "Generally I would recite the resume of an important guest to this body, but in this instance, no such need exists. Instead, I would like to exercise a point of personal privilege, on behalf of the entire magical population of Great Britain, to thank Harry Potter for his selfless sacrifice on our behalf. I do not exaggerate by claiming that Mr. Potter, by defeating the dark lord Voldemort, has saved our world. I ask that all of us in this chamber express our appreciation to Harry Potter."

As soon as the final word left the Minister's mouth, the giant chamber erupted in applause and shouts of thanks to Harry. Everyone but Harry stood, even the fifteen elderly members of the Wizengamot. Hermione and Professor McGonagall arose as well with their applause, and Harry never felt so embarrassed in his life. Nobody warned him about this, and he did his best to remain calm. The panic that he felt back at the opening feast reignited in his stomach, and he felt his arms start to shake. He considered bolting for the door through which he entered, but instead he remained bolted to his chair.

Hermione immediately sensed Harry's panic, and she knew she needed to end this scene as quickly as possible. Instinctively, she realized that the raucous noise would not die down anytime soon unless Harry acknowledged it. She gently placed her hand on Harry's and bent down so that her mouth moved to an inch from his ear. The noise echoed so loudly, however, that she almost had to shout for Harry to hear her.

"Stand up, Harry, and wave to them. Then they'll stop."

Harry remained glued in his seat, so Hermione slid a hand under his shoulder, and gently lifted. The slight pressure loosed Harry from the chair, and he slowly followed Hermione's lead until he stood straight up. Finally acting on his own, he turned towards the assemblage and witnessed the hundreds of cheering and adoring faces.

In his head he heard the voice of David Simons. _You are not normal, Harry. Not after what you've done. You'll never be normal, at least not to all of us younger boys. You are our hero, after killing Voldemort and all._

"Accept it!" he ordered himself, and a moment later he raised his hand to his supporters, waving it back and forth several times, flash bulbs erupting every second. In response, the cheering of the crowd intensified, but after a short time, Harry raised both hands, signaling the on-lookers to calm themselves so that the session could begin. Within seconds, the noise level decreased, and perhaps twenty seconds later, Harry took his seat to a virtually silent chamber.

Minister Shacklebolt spoke the words sincerely, but he knew the effect the wild ovation would have on the members of the Wizengamot. The questioning began, but each successive member dared not directly challenge Harry's position in favor of the reforms to the house elf laws. At first, Harry answered the questions briefly and nervously, but as each member who supported the law took his or her turn, they deftly asked questions allowing Harry to relate how he had been assisted by house elves throughout his adventures. Over and over, Harry emphasized that Voldemort would have prevailed but for the assistance and loyalty of house elves.

Only Randolph Nelson, the primary opponent to the law, attempted to trip up Harry in a last-ditch attempt to halt the momentum building in favor of passage. A traditionalist, Nelson earned a richly deserved reputation as a skillful politician, and he more than any other person locked horns with Remus Lupin over the house elf reforms. A slight wiry man, Nelson gained popularity with the public by his long-time and vocal opposition to Voldemort, and he alone among the Wizengamot actively supported the Order of the Phoenix. Moreover, as a childhood friend and philosophical twin of the owner of the Daily Prophet, he received more than his share of positive press.

"We are all aware, of course, of your unfortunate upbringing in a muggle household, Mr. Potter. Obviously you had no knowledge of the existence of house elves during your early childhood. Wouldn't you agree that you have had extremely little contact with house elves during your lifetime?"

Harry wavered a moment before answering, "Well, you could say that. I have learned much about house elves these past couple of years, as I have explained earlier. But I knew nothing about them before I went to Hogwarts."

"Thus it is true that you have never seen how house elves are truly treated in a typical wizard's home, correct Mr. Potter?" Nelson asked immediately, cutting off Harry's attempt to explain his answer further.

Again, Harry paused before responding, "Not a lot, I admit, but I have seen and heard enough to know of their mistreatment. I know that . . . ."

Nelson again cut him off, starting a new question, "Therefore, you may not be the best judge . . . ."

"Mr. Nelson," interrupted Minister Shacklebolt boldly, exercising his power as presiding officer, "Please allow Mr. Potter to complete his answer." The two men glared momentarily at one another, and Harry sensed that this was but a small skirmish in their larger political war. Nelson had no choice but to cede the floor to the young wizard. "Please complete your answer, Mr. Potter."

Harry suddenly felt a warmth inside of him, the same warmth that he felt when he lay on the grave of Albus Dumbledore after he buried the professor. The young man breathed in deeply, enjoying the presence of his mentor, whether real or perceived. He would never know if he imagined it or if somehow the old man placed the words in his head, but Harry distinctly heard the voice of Dumbledore inside his ears.

"Let him have it, Harry!"

Words appeared in Harry's brain and transferred to his mouth almost magically, and Harry could not help but believe that Dumbledore himself came down from above to dictate Harry's response, the response that would make its way into all of the newspapers and magazines and ultimately assure passage of the reform law.

"Mr. Nelson, though I did not lead a privileged life as a child, I nevertheless believe I have the right and duty to advocate on behalf of house elves. My own eyes have seen Lucius Malfoy, an esteemed member of society for many years, physically abuse his house elf, in public. I have seen house elves required to punish themselves for perceived errors, ironing their ears or pounding their heads against a wall. As you well know, Mr. Nelson, current law permits a wizard to punish a house elf in any way, and they are routinely flogged, beaten, burned and kicked. WE DO NOT EVEN TREAT OUR DOGS SO CRUELLY."

Harry's raised voice shocked the crowd into absolute silence, the only sound in the chamber being the scratching of charmed quills taking down every word of the proceeding. By now, the thrill of battle rushed through Harry's veins, and he felt much like he did when he appeared before Nagini several floors below where he currently sat.

"Yet despite our centuries of mistreatment of house elves, they have not turned against us. When treated well, house elves will do ANYTHING for a witch or wizard. I know better than anyone. My great friend, Dobby, the same elf abused by Lucius Malfoy, is as much responsible for the defeat of Lord Voldemort as I am, as I have already related. Without him, Harry Potter would be dead, Lord Voldemort would be your ruler, and we would not be seated here today having this discussion."

Harry paused for effect, and glanced at Hermione, whose lips curled into a barely noticeable smirk.

"I am not without fault. My great friend, Hermione Granger, seated next to me, first brought the plight of house elves to my attention, several years ago. I am ashamed to admit that though I did not disagree with her, neither did I take her seriously. We are all guilty in our willful neglect of an obviously unjust institution. When we demean house elves, we demean ourselves. This proposed reform is a first step towards our redemption. We must not let this moment pass!"

The chamber remained in complete silence as soon as the quills scratched Harry's final words. Randolph Nelson knew defeat when he smelled it and asked no further questions. No use digging a deeper hole for himself.

At last, in the mid-afternoon, the proceeding ended, and again Harry and Hermione had to pass through a gauntlet of cameras and reporters. They held hands openly, resulting in dozens of photographs of the couple, which would appear little by little in every wizarding publication in Britain and beyond. No hiding it now. Hermione truly had become that headline of so many months before, "The Chosen One's Chosen One."

"Professor, may Hermione and I have permission to come back to Hogwarts in a couple of hours. If you don't mind, I'd like a little time to calm down."

"Certainly, Harry," Professor McGonagall consented, her eyes still full of pride for the boy that she left at the front door of those terrible muggles so many years ago. Dumbledore told her the truth. Harry Potter would become a great wizard. He already was.

"Where are we going, Harry? " Hermione asked, but Harry merely placed his hand on her shoulder in the apparation area of the Ministry. After one last wave to the photographers, they disappeared. A few seconds later, they reappeared on top of the hill at Godric's Hollow, a few feet in front of the graves of James and Lily Potter. At almost four in the afternoon, the sun had started its descent, but still shone brightly in the western sky.

The couple immediately embraced and kissed each other passionately, releasing all of the pent up emotions of the day. The awkwardness of the first kiss had long since passed, and the two felt this to be the most natural thing in the world to do, as easy as slipping on a shirt or drinking a glass of water. Finally they parted and stared into each other's eyes.

"I've never been so proud of you, Harry," Hermione declared, "This was so hard for you to do, but you did it anyway. Even when you didn't have to. That makes you not only a great wizard, but a great person."

Harry looked past Hermione's ear at the hills in the distance. _A great person? I'm anything but a great person._ The name "Ginny Weasley" proved it. Her death would always be his responsibility, more than any of the others who died for him. He could have prevented her death so easily, if he had only been strong enough. Hermione could feel the change in Harry's body, the tension in his muscles.

"What's wrong, Harry?" she asked with a worried voice, "Did I say something wrong?" He shook his head. "Then what are you thinking about?" The young man opened his mouth twice, but he could not decide exactly what to say.

Finally he confessed, "I was thinking about Ginny. I'm not a great person, Hermione. Ginny died because of my weakness. Right here on this hill. I should have finished it right here. Instead of trusting the power of love, I panicked. If I had continued to possess Voldemort, if I didn't stab him. . . ." He did not finish the thought, but Hermione understood. She tried to think of some way to console him, but before she could respond, Harry spoke again.

"Once I realized my failure, I should have done it. I should have killed myself. There was no other way, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it." Tears slowly formed in his eyes and gently trickled down his cheeks, but Harry did not notice. He continued to stare vacantly at the hills. "Maybe there is a way, I kept telling myself, but deep down I knew it could not be done. Sacrificial love. It never occurred to me. So many people have sacrificed themselves for me: my mum and dad, Sirius, Dumbledore, Ginny. I could even add Ron to the list. I'll never be able to accept it."

Hermione turned Harry towards her and wiped the tears off his face. Carefully she chose her words.

"It's not a crime to want to live, Harry. You acted like a normal person. I know it's hard to remember that you are a normal person, because in so many ways you are not. But you need to sleep at night, eat breakfast in the morning, put on your clothes and take a shower like everyone else. Just like all of us, you wanted to live. You had hope. That's not a bad thing; it's a good thing. It just didn't work out the way we wanted. The way Ginny wanted."

Harry nodded his head, understanding Hermione's point, and he wrapped an arm around her back. The two of them gazed out to the countryside, the red and yellow flowers still adorning the rolling hills of the Hollow.

To his left, he heard a rustling in the shrubs along the edge of the hill, and Harry sensed the presence of snakes.

"Show yourself," he hissed in Parseltongue, causing Hermione to shiver, "I am your friend."

Four serpents emerged from their shelter, among them a slender grey snake that had shared in Harry's greatest adventures. Harry pulled a reluctant Hermione towards the snakes.

"It's Issamir!" he told her excitedly, "He's still here."

"You have survived, Harry Potter," hissed the slender serpent, sliding a few feet in front of the others, "I had faith that you would survive and return to the burial ground of your ancestors."

"I have suffered much, Issamir, but indeed I have survived. Often have I thought of you, hopeful that you found a new life here. I have missed our conversations."

"As have I, Harry Potter. The clan of these hills has accepted me into its fold. I have found my place in this world. Do not worry for your serpent friend."

"Nor should you worry for your human friend. I believe I am finding my place in this world as well. I have found the person I love, which is important for humans. The time may come when I can be a happy man."

"I can feel you contentment, Harry Potter. The female is a great comfort to you. I will interrupt you no further, for I sense that you have much to discuss with her. These hills are my home, Harry Potter. Come visit me when you are able." And with that, the four serpents disappeared among the branches of the nearby bushes.

_I forgot Hashashis,_ Harry realized, having omitted the unknown snake from his list of those who died for him. _But for a serpent's sacrifice, I would be dead. So many have sacrificed themselves for me. How can I ever repay them?"_

"I have to live a good life," Harry muttered to Hermione while the breeze played with his hair, "That's what I've decided. All these people died for me. And a serpent. The only way I can repay them is to be a good person."

"You've always been a good person, Harry," Hermione responded, snuggling closer to him, "Today you proved it. And you've proved it for the last seven years. We've all made mistakes, but your heart has always been in the right place. You sacrificed so much to kill Voldemort. Hufflepuff's cup, Slytherin's locket, the wolf bite, your fight right here with Voldemort. Don't just focus on your mistakes. You've accomplished more than anyone else could have."

Standing atop the hillock, contemplating the events of the day, Harry realized that he had returned to normal, or as close to normal as he would come. Facing his fears by testifying before the Wizengamut and measuring up to the task somehow healed the last wounds of his ordeal. He could not change the past, but he could make the best of his future. They reached the edge of the hill, gazing down upon the ruins of his first home.

"This is where I'm going to live," he declared without thinking, "I'm going to build where my parent's house stood. I'll sell Grimmauld Place. It's too big and depressing anyway. But I want a muggle house, with electric lights and a refrigerator and central heating. The kitchen will face to the west so that I can watch the sunset over those hills like my mum did."

Surprised by Harry's change of topic, Hermione gazed down on the ruins of the house and then at the sun setting over the hills to the west.

"That sounds wonderful, Harry."

At first, Harry did not recognize the significance of these words, but after a few seconds, he turned towards Hermione and looked her in the eyes.

"Do you really mean that? I mean, would you like that too?"

Hermione smiled broadly at Harry's nervous question, and the smile caused Harry to relax. He knew the answer before she said it.

"Yes, Harry, I really mean it."

Harry returned her smile. For the first time in his life, he realized that he had a future. True, he did not know what career he would pursue or where fate would lead him, but he knew where he would live. And with whom. He could never be normal, but after the events of the day, he knew he could deal with that. Within his abnormal life, this would be his oasis of normality. Here he could just be Harry Potter.

Harry and Hermione kissed again, slowly and lovingly, as the meaning of their conversation sunk in. They looked into each other's eyes, and Hermione ran her hand along Harry's smoothly shaven cheeks, full of emotion that the real Harry Potter had finally returned. She could think of only one more thing that she desired.

"Could you do me a favor, Harry?" she whispered in his ear. Harry nodded his assent. Hermione again ran her hand along his cheek.

"Don't shave for a couple of days."

xxxx xxxx xxxx xxxx

So ends A Serpent's Sacrifice. I hope you have enjoyed reading it as much I as enjoyed writing it. Much has been left to your imagination. At the age of 18, I had no idea what to do with my life, and I see no reason why Harry should be any different. Hermione and he will finish their Hogwarts education, and then, who knows? However, Harry and Hermione will always be important people in the wizarding world. I can see them returning to Hogwarts some day as professors, but surely they would leave the castle for some years after graduation. His destiny fulfilled, there is no reason why Harry cannot live a happy and fulfilling life.

I also think that Ron will recover from his issues, and Harry and he will meet again. Rarely do the friendships of youth survive untouched into adulthood, so I think we do not need to mourn the end of their friendship too much. I like to think that they will be friends again, though never the best mates of the past.

No, I will not write a sequel to this story; however, I have been busy writing a new seventh-year story, The Bottom of the Lake, which I will start posting in the next couple of days. I have much of it already written, and I will post the entire new story before Deathly Hallows comes out in a month. It will be an entirely different story from A Serpent's Sacrifice, filled with much intrigue. I hope you will give it a try.

Thanks to all of you who have read and reviewed. Your comments were most helpful.

Gabilian (6-19-07)


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